


Up in the Air

by emmy_award



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cas has a cat!!!, Flight Attendant Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmy_award/pseuds/emmy_award
Summary: Even under the best circumstances, having a long commute sucks. Especially when that commute is a flight.In which Castiel is a young businessman trying to keep things professional, and it all goes to hell when he meets a certain flight attendant named Dean Winchester.





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

> ok yes I know that in canon Dean is scared of planes but!!! I've chosen to ignore that in favor of imagining Dean in a flight attendant uniform.  
> this is gonna be a lot of fluff and smut with a decent chunk of plot. fasten your seatbelt....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> banter, light angst, and delayed opportunities!

**Day 1**

 

**4:26 AM**

Castiel would consider himself a morning person, but even this was a bit much. 

It was almost half-past 4 A.M., and the line for TSA was blissfully short. A perk Castiel grudgingly admitted, especially since Pre-Check wasn’t open yet. The line slithered forward, and as he approached the guard’s podium, his gaze flickered around what little he could see of the airport beyond that.

San Jose International wasn’t the biggest airport in the world, but it was kind of pretty. There was white paint, sweeping metal arches, there was glass, there was a dark sky hanging above. Castiel knew that it was much prettier during the day, when sunshine was streaming in and the fluorescent haze wasn’t quite so intrusive.

But this was his morning view for the next two weeks, so he might as well get used to it.

The TSA guard held out an expectant hand, and Castiel gave him his documents. He was old-fashioned when it came to travel, so his boarding pass was carbon and wrinkled from his suit pocket.

The officer scanned in his pass and let out a little grunt. “Interesting name,” he said, signing everything with a sweeping hand.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “My parents had a poor sense of humor.”

The guard huffed and waved him past.

Castiel had the conveyor belt down to a system. He shucked his loafers, took off his jacket, and pulled the small bag of liquids — just the essentials — out of his carry-on, which did double-duty as a briefcase and suitcase. He kept his belt, keys, and wallet in the front pouch so he never had to empty his pockets. He walked forward when directed, stood like a stick figure in the x-ray tube, and wasn’t pulled aside for questioning.

Shoes, belt, jacket, done.

In terms of food, he supposed he should eat something, but his stomach curdled at the thought, so he settled for his usual venti Pike Place (no sugar, lowfat milk) from Starbucks. Next, he walked to the bookseller, purchased John Grisham’s newest thriller and a pack of gum, and started to head for his gate. 

Well. Loosely “head for.” Castiel made a habit of walking around until it was time to board.

So, he did his laps for the cursory half-hour, his trusty carry-on trundling along behind him and the most recent “This American Life” playing in his ears, and then, at 5:15 A.M., he made a beeline for his gate.

Thanks to company perks, he boarded in the first group and was happily settled in business class in no time at all. He nursed the dregs of his coffee as other bleary-eyed passengers trickled onto the plane, and amused himself by scrolling through Instagram until the doors started to close. 

“All right, ladies and gentlemen, this is just a friendly reminder that if you’d like to stow somethin’ under the seat in front of you, it has to actually _fit_ under the seat in front of you.” A low chuckle. “No extra points for shovin’.” 

Castiel blinked, feeling like he’d taken a punch to the gut. That goddamn _voice_ . He let out an involuntary shiver, which he was more than ready to blame on the air-conditioning. The voice was like honey on toast. _Plus a cigar smoked over some bourbon_ , his mind unhelpfully tacked on. He frowned, wondering if he could spot its owner.

But alas, the universe hated him, because the captain came on next, and his voice was plain, boring, snooze-worthy in comparison. He talked them through the usual — “fairly clear skies, should be rolling into San Diego in about an hour and a half” — and Castiel rolled his eyes and went back to Instagram.

Then, the comm switched, and — “Okay, ladies and gents, my name’s Dean and I’ll be takin’ care of you today. I’m just gonna talk you through the safety procedures for this aircraft—” Castiel tried to look around with as much subtlety as he could muster, but none of the flight attendants he could see were on comm — “and get you sorted for a painless, speedy flight down to good ol’ San Diego. But, before I continue, just thought I’d put out a quick reminder to turn off and stow your electronic devices.” Castiel felt himself blush, and then — “You can double-tap those cat videos later.” 

Castiel’s head shot up from where he had been about to do just that, and he finally locked eyes with the culpable flight attendant. He was standing near the bulkhead, leaning against the counter in the kitchenette, the cord to the intercom looped around his hand, and he was staring right at Castiel. All Castiel could think was _freckles_ , and then the flight attendant — Dean, he remembered — fucking _grinned_ and leaned away, back out of Castiel’s line of vision.

Castiel swore under his breath, willing the flush out of his cheeks, but turned off his phone and slid it into his pocket.

He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse to not be able to watch Dean while he spoke. To be fair, Castiel had never paid closer attention to safety instructions, even if he had to cross his legs to hide the effects of Dean’s voice.

 _Fuck me_ , Castiel gritted out in his head. He snapped his seatbelt into place, then, once Dean signed off with a jaunty, “Catch you guys in atmo!” Castiel leaned back into his headrest and closed his eyes. 

He had a feeling this was going to be a long flight.

 

**6:05 AM**

Castiel dozed during takeoff, but came to when an announcement that drinks would be served pinged through the intercom. It wasn’t Dean, but it woke Castiel up, and he shifted in his seat, suppressing a yawn as he pulled out his book. 

He usually only read thrillers when he traveled, and that used to be rare enough that he could read a new Grisham every time he flew. He knew he spoilt himself, since Grisham was among the best, but he was already grumpy at the thought of having to find something else tomorrow or the day after.

Castiel was so absorbed in the book that he didn’t notice the beverage cart until it was right next to him. “Somethin’ to drink?” came that maddening voice, and Castiel found himself meeting green eyes once again. 

Dammit. “Diet Coke, please.”

Dean’s stupid, perfect eyebrows flickered upwards as he complied. He was even more attractive up-close, and Castiel could see that he was right about the freckles. They were scattered across the bridge of Dean’s nose, all over his forehead, even a couple on his chin. That same shit-eating smirk from before was playing around Dean’s sculpted features, threatening to break through, like he knew exactly what effect he had on Castiel. “After that much coffee? You don’t mess around.” 

Castiel glanced at the seat next to him, which was empty save for his unmistakably gigantic Starbucks cup. He looked back at Dean and thought, _two can play at that game_. “What can I say,” Castiel replied, dry as the Mojave, “it takes a lot to get me up in the morning.”

Dean’s grin broke through in earnest, and he made a delicious huffing sound that Castiel absurdly wanted to chase with his mouth. _Teeth too perfect,_ he grumbled to himself. _Even his teeth are fucking perfect._ “Oh, I dunno,” Dean drawled as he handed down a cup of ice wrapped in a napkin, followed by an open can of soda. Castiel took both, savoring the tiniest brush of their fingers. Dean locked eyes with him again. “I bet it wouldn’t take that much.” 

And then he was rolling away, smirk perfectly in place, while Castiel could only stare after him in surprise.

 

**6:35 A.M.**

Castiel buried himself in his book and tried to nurse his Diet Coke, but soon enough, his bladder was screaming and he was starting to feel properly awake. He transferred his drink to the window seat’s tray, unbuckled his seatbelt, and stood up, letting out a small groan as his hip cracked. He rolled his neck, lifting his arms over his head and squeezing his eyes shut as he stretched out his side.

When he let his arms drop and he reopened his eyes, he turned around and immediately felt himself blush. Dean was standing by the bulkhead, leaning against some kitchen device, and that same, stupid, shit-eating smirk was back. Castiel suddenly felt a violent urge to turn back around and sprint for the toilets in the rear of the plane, but he forced himself to take a step forward instead, suddenly hyper-aware of his shirt and how it was coming untucked on one side.

But damn it all if Castiel didn’t stare right back. Two could play at this game, and he was determined not to crack.

Dean’s expression shuttered into something more professional, though still friendly, as Castiel approached. His smirk became a smile and he said, “Can I get you anything, sir?”

Castiel shook his head, reaching for the bathroom door. “Thank you, but I think I can handle this one on my own.”

A grin now, as Dean ducked his head in a nod and turned away. Castiel slipped inside the bathroom, locked the door, and stared at his reflection, ghastly in the blue light. “Keep your shit together,” he growled to himself, then took care of business and fixed his shirt.

Castiel unlocked the door and pulled it open, then felt a weird trickle of disappointment when Dean wasn’t there. The kitchen and bulkhead area was pretty big, so he told himself there was no harm in looking around the corner—

Dean was standing in the door area across the aisle, where the flight attendants had their seats for takeoff and landing, his back to Castiel — and _good Lord,_ he thought, _how does someone look that good in a bright red polo and slacks_ — as he leaned against the wall and chatted to another flight attendant. She was small, her wavy blonde hair pulled up into a neat ponytail, and she was pretty, Castiel couldn’t help but notice. She said something, her eyebrow quirking up, and Dean let out a laugh, a sharp sound that snapped Castiel’s concentration. He realized he had been staring at Dean’s ass, but before he could turn away, Blondie’s gaze drifted to him. Castiel felt another blush creep up his neck and he really did turn away that time, before she could call him out. He headed back to his seat, and as he went, he noticed that none of the other passengers had a whole can of soda, just the little plastic cup, and _huh._ Castiel didn’t really know what to make of that, but if his stomach let out a few butterflies, no one needed to know.

 

**7:08 A.M.**

They started to descend just as the sun started to come up, and Castiel opened his shade to watch the sky change from purple to blue. The plane cut through a layer of scalloped periwinkle clouds, the air around them a hesitant blue flushed with yellow.

“Trash?”

Castiel blinked, came back to reality, and there was Blondie, standing right in front of him, trash bag in hand, giving him a smile that was polite but somehow knowing. And he could see her nametag.

Castiel gathered up his cups and can and slid them into the bag, avoiding her gaze. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your descent.” Her smile widened, and then she continued on her way, just in time for Castiel to hear, “You got it, ma’am,” from across the plane. 

Dean was making the same rounds down the other side of the plane, and as he turned to the center aisle, he caught Castiel’s eye and there, just for a second, was a little smile, nothing smirk about it at all, just something pleased and private, and Castiel knew for a fact that he was in trouble. And that Blondie’s name was actually Jo.

 

**7:25 A.M.**

The landing was smooth, and Castiel kept his gaze lowered as he shrugged on his suit jacket and pulled down his carry-on. He booted up his phone, sent Anna and Hael a quick text assuring them of his safety, put in a mobile order to the Starbucks in the nearest terminal, and resisted the urge to plug back into his podcasts.

The line of passengers moved quickly off the plane, and Castiel felt his stomach lurch as he headed down the aisle and through the bulkhead kitchen, because, yup, there was Dean, standing by the door all at-attention and adorable, and he was getting closer and closer and— 

“Thank you,” said Castiel, slowing down just a little, and as he watched, Dean locked gazes with him with a smile that slipped away as Dean’s gaze traveled downwards, sliding over Castiel’s neatly-knotted tie and tailored suit jacket before sliding back up, his eyes wide, and Castiel had to allow himself a moment of satisfaction in knowing that this suit was worth every penny of the tailoring job. 

Jo, who was standing next to Dean, dug an elbow into his side and jumped in with, “You’re welcome!” 

Dean twitched and cleared his throat as Castiel continued past them. “Yeah, uh— yes, sir, you have a good day.”

Castiel stepped onto the jet bridge and couldn’t resist sending Dean one last smile and a jaunty salute, trying to burn Dean’s face into his memory, and then he was continuing on his way, trusty carry-on trundling at his ankles, and he ignored the tiny pang in his stomach that felt a little too much like regret.

 

**1:28 P.M.**

**Me:** ok so far i don’t think they h  ate me

  
Castiel frowned, paperwork between his teeth, and tried to get a better grip on his phone.

 

 **Me:** *hate. Apologies.

 **Hael:** omg can i put this moment in the record-books

 **Hael:** castiel novak made a typoooo

 **Me:** theirs mOre wh4re tht came frum

 ******Hael:** lol

Castiel, smiling now, tucked his phone into his pocket and and the paperwork into his briefcase, and looked out the office windows towards the busy street down below. Time to get something to eat.

There was a mom-and-pop bakery and a good-sized park not two blocks away, and Castiel ate his sandwich while he strolled. It was pleasantly warm, and he fancied he could almost smell the ocean that was less than a mile away.

Then, his pocket buzzed. He pulled his phone out as he chewed on a large mouthful of bacon and avocado, opened Gabe’s text, then nearly choked as he began to laugh.

**Gabe:** heyyyy lil bro any mile-high delights???

Castiel shook his head in the negative as he sent Gabe a reply telling him as much, and he found himself blushing as he began to kind of wish he could reply ‘yes’ instead.

**  
  
**

**6:15 P.M.**

Castiel shucked his loafers and jacket, pulled out his liquids, and toyed with the notion that the coming weeks might be his Sisyphean task. It was kind of a grim thought, but he supposed there were worse things.

The terminal was sluggish. Most people were eating dinner, and Castiel fought the urge to do the same. The cheapskate in him couldn’t make peace with the airport food prices, especially not for several weeks in a row.

Time dragged like it hadn’t that morning, and he found himself almost twitching as he lined up to board. Maybe it was just the caffeine, or the fact that his temporary travel schedule meant that he’d had to forgo his morning run, but Castiel refused to acknowledge the possibility that he was nervous. The odds of Dean being on his second flight home were astronomically low, and he didn’t need a math degree to figure that one out.

But that didn’t stop him from — _casually, very casually_ , he told himself — looking around at the flight staff as he boarded. Maybe a familiar face or two from the morning, but no cigar. He stamped down a rush of disappointment as he stowed his bag, shucked his jacket, and took his seat, which, of course, happened to be the same one (aisle, last row of Business) as he’d had that morning. Castiel pulled out his book and loosened his tie, trying to bury himself in Grisham’s plot as a voice that was very un-Dean-like reminded passengers to properly stow their bags. Sisyphean task, indeed.

**  
  
**

**7:32 P.M.**

The drinks cart came and went, and Castiel got a plain old cup of soda just like everybody else. He frowned at it — unfairly, he knew — and left it on the window seat’s tray, then stood up and headed for the bathroom, trying not to feel déja vu as he did so.

He had been back in his seat and in his Grisham for just a couple minutes when, distantly, he was aware of someone in his section pressing a button for the flight attendant. A moment later, there were footsteps, a quiet conversation, a chuckle, and then, right by his seat, a very familiar voice.

“That’s one hell of a fancy knot you’ve got there.”

Castiel slowly looked up, and found those same freckles, those same green eyes, that same insufferable grin. His stomach did an unhelpful swoop. “Dean.”

Dean was in uniform, clearly working the flight, and Castiel wondered how he had missed him. “Hey there,” Dean replied, then something seemed to click behind his eyes. “I never got your name.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s tongue felt three sizes too big for his mouth. That stupid voice. “It’s Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Dean repeated, like he was tasting the word. Then, he was smiling again. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” Castiel realized he was staring, and Dean was staring back. A beat, then two beats, and then Dean was clearing his throat.

“Anyway, uh.” Dean shifted a little. “Your tie. That’s pretty cool.”

“Oh, thank you.” Castiel finally broke eye contact to look down, trying to remember what knot he had tied that day. “It’s called an Eldridge.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Fancy.”

That made Castiel huff. “Not really,” he replied, finding Dean’s gaze again. “But I guess it makes me stand out a little from all the other business boys,” he added with a rueful smile.

Dean smiled back. “Business boys, huh? So you’re in town for work?”

Castiel nodded. “This is my commute for a few weeks, just while we get this project finished and tied up with a pretty, pretty bow.”

Dean chuckled, and the sound was delicious. “What’s the project?”

“I work for a corporation that specializes in low-income housing projects for the whole state, and we’ve got a large apartment block going up in San Diego. Our regional branch is handling most of the small stuff, but since I’m project manager they want me there to dot all the i’s and cut all the ribbons.” Castiel fidgeted. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

Dean was already shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry, that sounds awesome. Plus, seems like you’ve got a better moral backbone than most business people.” He flashed Castiel another grin.

Castiel chuckled in reply. “I don’t know about that.”

“Wait.” Dean frowned a little. “A few weeks? They couldn’t spring for a suite or a hotel?”

“I believe it cost less this way. Plus, my sister’s out of town, and I couldn’t find another cat-sitter on such short notice.”

Dean chuckled again, much to Castiel’s delight. “Well,” Dean said, making the word seem longer than it was, and Castiel knew that the conversation was going to wind down, “looks like you’re one of my regulars for a little while.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows as his heart picked up speed. “Is that right?” Did Dean fly this route every day?

“Mm-hmm.” Dean gave that smile again, that small, quiet smile, and began to walk away. “See you later, Cas.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Castiel replied, his whole body thrumming at the nickname.

**  
  
**

**10:05 P.M.**

Castiel unlocked his front door and barely had a foot inside when a large furball collided with his ankles, yowling pitifully.

Castiel wobbled, gently trying to toe his cat back into the house without hurting her. He managed to push them both inside and get the door shut and locked, but her yowling intensified. Huffing a laugh, he put his to-go bag of In-N-Out on the entryway table and dropped his carry-on. “Okay, girl,” he said, fully aware that he was standing in a dark apartment and probably sounded insane, “come on! Up-up!”

Castiel patted his chest and Kitty sprang from the ground, paws splayed wide. He caught her against his chest and she began to nuzzle his chin and his cheeks, purring when she found stubble there to greet her. “Mm-hmm,” he rumbled, kissing her on the head. “Let’s get you some food. But don’t think for a second that you’re getting even a bite of this burger.” Castiel flicked on the nearest light, bringing his apartment to life, and turned to the kitchen. The open floorplan left the kitchen, dining room, and living room as one continuous space, the first thing you walked into upon entering.

He laughed at her rolling-on-her-back, paws-up-in-the-air display as he opened her food, then said, “If you don’t quit howling the neighbors will think I’ve done something really awful!” She completely ignored him and proceeded to inhale half her dish of Beef Feast in Gravy, the bowl of dry kibble next to it apparently untouched.

Castiel ate his animal-style Double-Double alone at the table, looking out the windows and to the high street down below. There weren’t many people out, but the jazz cafe across the road from his apartment was alive and well, people laughing and drinking at tables outside, and Castiel absently wondered how Dean felt about jazz.

He hated eating alone.

 

**Day Two**

**4:54 A.M.**

Castiel sipped at his Starbucks and watched the numbers on the departures board flicker and change. He knew that he was in there somewhere, in those jittery numbers, and the thought imposed an eerie calm that settled on his shoulders like the cat he had left behind that morning.

Kitty wasn’t too happy with him. She had tunneled under his sheet and refused to come out for a kiss goodbye. He couldn’t really fault her for it. Unless Anna came back from vacation early — which, by the looks of the photos she was posting on Instagram, seemed unlikely —Kitty was just going to have to get used to his coming and going. Castiel knew that he could probably find a cat-sitter without too much trouble, but he had a funny feeling about letting a stranger into his apartment, especially when he would be gone for such long stretches of time. And, he reminded himself, there would likely be more than one half-day in San Diego in the coming weeks, something that he hadn’t mentioned to Dean.

Which, now that he thought about it, _what_. Why did he feel like he owed Dean an explanation of that kind? Castiel reminded himself, then reminded himself again, that they had just met, a fact that didn’t seem to fit how comfortable he felt around Dean.

That was the other thing. After a restful, though short, night’s sleep, Castiel found himself surprised at his own forwardness. He almost couldn’t believe the way he had flirted with Dean the day before; it was something he rarely did with such ease. _And_ , he rebuked himself, _you don’t even know what his preferences are. You could be coming on to a very nice straight or ace man and scaring him shitless._ _Plus, you’re a customer. There are boundaries. Professionalism. Things that you do and don’t say._

So, resolved to maybe be a little more ‘professional’ when it came to Dean, Castiel turned back towards the gate. He had circled back around from his usual laps of the terminal, less than fifty feet from the gate, and he stopped short when he saw a cluster of people getting onto the plane. In a moment of panic, he wondered if he had somehow missing the call for boarding, but then realized that they were all wearing the same combination of blues and reds. Flight attendants.

They were laughing about something, far too awake and put-together considering the hour. A few of them looked familiar — Castiel guessed a lot of them did work the same shifts, as Dean had mentioned the day before — and with a pang, he recognized Dean standing in the middle of the group, small green duffel in hand. _Don’t turn around, don’t turn around,_ Castiel chanted, _don’t turn—_

But, of course, he did. Dean cast his gaze around the mostly-empty terminal and when he saw Castiel, he grinned and fucking _waved_. It wasn’t a big wave, just a little twitch of his hand, but it was enough to make Castiel’s knees feel gooey.

Castiel waved back, unable to keep from smiling. And as Dean turned and headed towards the jet bridge, a perky little bounce in his stupidly cute bowlegs, Castiel had a feeling that any attempts at ‘professionalism’ might end up flat and sprawled on the San Jose International tarmack.

**  
  
**

**6:09 A.M.**

“Diet Coke again, or are you feelin’ adventurous today?”

Castiel looked up with a grin. “I’m afraid I’ll be sticking to the usual.”

Dean smiled at him in return, grabbing a cup and lifting the lid off the ice bucket. “Sounds good.”

“Do you wear the same uniform each day?” The question was out of his mouth before Castiel could wonder if that was an okay thing to ask. _Well,_ he thought, _too late._

Dean lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug, and he seemed to not take issue with it. “Depends. I mostly stick to the polos but sometimes I get fancier. And there’s sweater stuff for the winter.” He filled the cup with ice, wrapped it in a napkin, and handed it down to Castiel. As he looked up, his gaze stuck on something just below the collar of Castiel’s shirt. “You said you had a cat, right?”

“Uh, yes?”

Dean was smiling now, and he reached for a can of Diet Coke. “I think you might wanna take a look at your chest.”

Castiel did, and felt a blush sweep up his neck. “Oh, _shit_.” He started brushing at his suit jacket, trying in vain to shift the white fur clinging to his lapels. That’s what he got for wearing the same suit two days in a row.

Dean chuckled, but it wasn’t mean, and he set Castiel’s can down on his open tray. “Don’t stress about it. I’ll bring you a lint roller when I’m done with the drinks.”

That broke Castiel’s frenzy, and he looked up at Dean. “Really?” He couldn’t hide his surprise.  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, man. All the stewardesses keep ‘em handy. You gotta if you’re gonna wear a navy blue dress all day.” He was still smiling, and as Castiel watched, his right eye twitched in a half-wink.

Castiel nearly swallowed his tongue. He settled for clearing his throat instead. “I would greatly appreciate that, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean ducked his head, nodded. “No problem. See ya in a bit.”

Castiel smirked. “Don’t work too hard.”

Dean’s departing laugh rang in Castiel’s ears.

**  
  
**

**6:35 A.M.**

“No need to grovel.” Dean appeared at Castiel’s side and held out a tiny lint roller. “Sacrifices of pie and beer work just fine.”

Castiel chuckled. “Thank you.” He took the roller, savoring the brush of Dean’s fingers, and got to work.

“White cat, huh?” Dean crossed his arms against his chest and leaned against the barrier behind Castiel’s chair.

“Unfortunately.” Castiel had to tuck his chin to see his chest, and the angle was weird. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t sporting too much of a double chin. “She thinks she’s very pretty.”

“Is this the part where you pull out your wallet and start showin’ me pictures of your precious child?” Dean’s tone was dry, and Castiel could hear his grin.

“No, that’s like level nine of crazy cat lady. I’m only at level three.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean’s tone changed to teasing, cheeky. “How’s that?”

Castiel smiled down at his chest, which was slowly but surely shedding all traces of Kitty. “I only took her in after finding her half-dead in the rain, so, yeah, level three.”

“But you let her sleep on your suit?”

Castiel felt himself start to blush again. “Not exactly.” He attempted to avoid Dean’s gaze as he leaned forward, trying to get Castiel to look at him.

“Caaaas?” Dean drawled, and Castiel felt his blush deepen. “Did you fall asleep in your suit?”

Castiel bit down on a laugh. “Actually, no, as impossible as that might seem.” He reckoned that Dean wouldn’t stop pressing until he caved, so he sighed and said, “She just likes to be carried whenever I’m home, either on my chest or she’ll ride on my shoulder. Usually, I try to keep her from doing that until I shuck the suit, but she was pretty mad at me last night, so…” Castiel trailed off with a grin at Dean’s expression.

“Dude.” Dean made a delightful little choking sound, like Castiel had just made his day. “You are _whipped_ . By a _cat_.”

Castiel couldn’t keep down his laugh this time. “Oh believe me, I know. But it’s better than the alternative.” The words were out before he could stop them, and he winced internally.

Dean went a bit still, and his next words were just on the edge of careful. “What’s the alternative, Cas?”

Castiel stared at his cup of Diet Coke. “Not being whipped by anybody.”

They were both quiet at that. Well, on the outside. Castiel was screaming on the inside, and not just because of the double entendre that he had trapped himself in.

So, he broke the silence by handing back the lint roller. A pause, then Dean took it.

“Were you gonna bother with a tie today, or was that what you were tryin’ to do with all the cat hair?” Dean’s voice was back to normal, all warm and welcoming, and Castiel just had to look up again, figuring that the conversation couldn’t get much more embarrassing than it already had.

“I tie it right before we start descending. Something in me just can’t face tying a tie at three-thirty in the morning.”

He got a smile for that one. “What knot are you gonna do today?”

“Atlantic,” Castiel replied before he could stop himself.

Dean’s smile turned into a grin. “Nerd.” He bumped Castiel’s arm with the lint roller, making to head back the way he came.

“Thank you again, Dean. You really saved my ass on that one.” Castiel sent him a smile.

Another little bump, gentle on his bicep. “Anytime, Cas.”

**  
  
**

**1:23 P.M.**

Castiel was getting properly addicted to his newfound bakery. He ordered a turkey club and a bottle of Orangina, then, as he was waiting for Geraldine — one of the owners — to finish making his sandwich, he asked if they had any pie.

**  
  
**

**7:23 P.M.**

They hit cruising altitude, and Cas still had no idea if Dean was on the plane.

Disembarking that morning had been far too much fun. Castiel only had a tangential understanding of what ‘swagger’ was, but he believed he had a touch of that in his stride as he walked past Dean in his full suit. Dean had flashed him this bright, blazing grin, pointing at Castiel’s tie and giving him an exaggerated, approving nod. Castiel had barely kept down a blush as he told Dean to have a good day. Dean’s gruff, “Knock ’em dead, Cas,” was still rolling through his head twelve hours later.

And now, Castiel was sitting on a plane, a to-go container of Geraldine’s homemade peach pie resting on the empty seat next to him, and he couldn’t get his leg to stop bouncing.

He really hadn’t thought this through.

A slow, painful ten minutes passed and then, to his momentary delight, the drinks cart appeared at the head of the aisle. But the cart was Dean-less, and Castiel sunk back into his seat with a scowl.

 _Really_ , he admonished himself. _You’re being ridiculous._ Best to kill this crush now before it ruined anything. But, Castiel agonized, he still had no idea what was on the table. And, to be fair, he didn’t know exactly what he wanted from Dean, either.

The cart and its attendant got to his seat, and Castiel wished he recognized the flight attendant. He was black, shorter than Dean, and rocking a goatee. “Can I get you anything, sir?” His nametag flashed, ‘Victor.’

“Diet Coke, please.” Castiel stared at his tray, and then his mouth was running away from him again. “Victor, I don’t suppose Dean is working this flight?”

Victor stilled for a moment, then continued pouring Castiel’s cup of soda. “He is, actually. He’s covering the back half of the plane.” He looked at Castiel as he handed over his drink. “You know him?”

Castiel forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m becoming a bit of a regular on these flights. Would you be willing to do me a favor?”

Something seemed to click into understanding behind Victor’s gaze and he leaned against his cart. “Depends.”

Castiel reached for the pie container and tried to hand it over in the most casual way possible. “Could you pass this off for me?”

Suddenly, Victor smiled, and he took the container. “You got it.” He continued on his way, one of the wheels on the cart letting out a squeak, and Castiel sent up a silent prayer to the heavens. **  
  
**

 

**8:55 P.M.**

Castiel didn’t see Dean for the remainder of the flight, and he tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding as he disembarked the plane and made his way up the jet bridge. He didn’t have too long to overthink it, though, before his phone started to ring.

He frowned when he saw it was Hael calling. “Hello?”

“He-llo!” she sing-songed back at him. “Just wanted to let you know that the courier got the documents to the notary, so we should be ready to go as of Thursday morning.”

“Oh.” He had forgotten all about that. Stupid pie. Castiel exited the jet bridge and walked out into the terminal, finding a relatively empty spot where he could stand and talk. “Thank you.”

She seemed to hear the unspoken. “Later than we wanted, I know. But it shouldn’t delay us too much, no more than half a day.”

His brow knit in concern as he realized the time. “Hael, why are you still doing work?”

She chuckled in reply. “Hey, I can’t control when the courier gets there, or when he decides to call me.”

Castiel couldn’t help but chuckle, too. “You have a point.”

“How did that meeting with CEHFA go?” The California Equitable Housing Finance Agency, and Hael pronounced it, _see-fah_.

“Oh, fairly well,” he replied, and then they were off. Castiel gave her a breakdown of his day, and they started talking shop in earnest before Castiel remembered where he was.

He gave himself a little shake. “Shit, Hael, I have to run. Kitty’s waiting.”

Her laugh trickled across the line. “You got it, boss. We can chat tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Goodnight,” he said, and just as they were hanging up, another voice piped up behind him.

“Peach pie, huh? Someone’s tryin’ to find the key to my heart.”

Castiel couldn’t fight his grin, and he turned around to see Dean standing there, looking a little rumpled, a little tired, but not much worse for wear. And, he was doing that smile, that small, quiet smile that Castiel couldn’t get enough of.

“What?” Castiel feigned incredulity, spreading his arms wide. “You said I could pay you in pie. I paid you in pie.”

“You are just too much,” Dean said, shaking his head, but his smile assured Castiel that everything was cool, no boundaries crossed.

They fell into pace with each other, both heading towards the exit. “Well,” Dean said. “You sure as hell made my day. Damn, that pie was good.”

“Glad to hear it.” And Castiel was. Dean’s smile was kind of priceless. “Little bakery by my company’s offices in San Diego.”

Dean let out a low whistle, adjusting his grip on his duffel. “Gonna have to hit that place up at some point.”

They passed through the terminal, then stepped on the escalator that would take them downstairs to the baggage claim and the parking lot.

Castiel looked down at his watch, all too aware of the time. “I sincerely hope that the pie wasn’t your only dinner.”

Dean was facing forwards, so Castiel only got to see half his grin. “Naw, I have some leftover ribs at home. What about you?” As the escalator took them under the floor above, he turned to Castiel, who almost let himself be distracted by the way the shadows were playing across Dean’s features.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied. “Might be another In-N-Out kind of night. I still have to adjust to these new hours.” They stepped off the escalator, the sliding exit doors in sight.

“Oh yeah? What’s your poison?”

“Double-Double, animal style.”  
  
Dean made that funny choking noise again. “You don’t mess around!”

“I take cheeseburgers very seriously,” Castiel replied. They had reached the doors, and as they were stepping outside amidst a rush of warm, dusty air, he noticed Dean staring at him. “What?” Castiel asked him with a frown.

“Heh.” Dean shook his head, looked away. “Nothing.”

Castiel paused on the sidewalk. He knew that they would be heading in different directions, to different parking lots. “See you tomorrow, then?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.

Dean shook his head, rueful. Castiel could still see his freckles in the half-light thrown by the fluorescence. “I got tomorrow off. Thursday, though,” he added.

Castiel nodded once. “Okay. See you Thursday, then.”

“Thursday.” Dean grinned, started to back away. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” Castiel grinned in return, and the walk to his car had never felt so short.

**  
  
  
**

**Day Three**

The plane took off. The plane landed. Castiel tied and loosened his Balthus knot. He drank only cups of soda instead of cans, and he traded smiles with Jo, who gave him another knowing look. His tuna salad sandwich was even better than the turkey club, and he ignored the way his heart fell when he looked at Geraldine’s pies.

The notary took his damn time.

Kitty was still pretty mad.

And if late that evening, Castiel came in his hand with a broken “Dean--!” stuttering out of his lips, well, he was the only one who needed to know. 

 

 

**Day Four**

**6:07 A.M.**

Castiel had his earbuds in and his eyes on some paperwork when he heard, “Y’know, I’m not even gonna bother askin’ ya, I know what you’re gonna say—” and he was pulling out an earbud and smiling as he looked up at Dean’s smug grin.

“Good morning to you, too.” Castiel paused his podcast and put his phone aside. “How was your day off?”

“Pretty good.” Dean smiled down at the cup of ice in his hand. “Slept in, made pancakes, tinkered with my Baby—” He caught Castiel’s expression and seemed to stumble — “Car, she’s my car.”

“You call your car ‘Baby?’” Castiel’s mouth worked as he fought off a grin.

Dean grinned for him. “Only ’cause she’s the most important lady in my life. She’s a queen.” He set Castiel’s can and cup down on his tray, carefully avoiding the paperwork.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. “Note to self, never get between Dean and his Baby.”

Dean’s eyes seemed to get wider, brighter, but Castiel swore he was imagining it. “Yeah,” Dean rumbled, then he straightened up. “I better keep at it, but—” he pointed a dramatic finger at Castiel. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Message received.” Castiel smirked at him and reached for his earbuds. He wasn’t too sure what Dean meant by that.

But, he went back to his work. Before he knew it, twenty minutes had passed, and then—

“Boo.”

Castiel didn’t flinch, he _didn’t_ , but he turned to level Dean with his most unamused stare. “Nice.”

Dean’s shit-eating grin slid into place. “I know, huh.” He held something up, and Castiel frowned as he was face-to-face with a bright red tie. “Teach me the Atlantic?”

Castiel blinked. Now _that_ was unexpected. He looked at Dean, and realized that he was wearing a button-down today. “Uh, okay.” He pulled out his earbuds again, stacked his papers, undid his seatbelt, and slid into the ever-empty window seat. Castiel pushed his papers into the seatback pocket and picked up his drink, motioning for Dean to sit down in his now empty chair.

Dean did so, folding up the aisle seat’s tray as Castiel pulled down the window seat’s tray. Castiel set down his drink and said, “Don’t worry, it’s pretty easy.”

Dean chuckled. “I sure as heck hope so. I gotta get this done in time for trash pickup.”

Castiel smiled back at him, and in a flash, he realized that this was probably the closest they had ever been to each other, distance-wise. Dean’s arm was less than two inches from his own, and he realized how easily he could close the distance, press his arm to Dean’s and feel the warmth of his skin through his poly-blend shirt. The thought made him breathe a little faster, and he licked his lips before saying, “Okay, put it around your neck.”

Dean obeyed, tweaking the tie, and Castiel stopped him before he pulled the ends even. “You want the thick end longer,” Castiel said, the tips of his ears burning at the way that sounded. But Dean, bless him, either ignored the double entendre or didn’t hear it.

“Okay,” Castiel continued, wondering how he was going to get through this with his sanity intact. “Pass the thin end through your neck loop on your right side—” Before he could stop himself, Castiel tapped Dean’s right shoulder. Dean complied and Castiel barreled on, clasping his hands in his lap to keep himself from doing that again: “Bring it up and over, towards the left, and back under the thick end towards your right.”

Dean frowned, and had to think for a moment before he got it.

“Good,” Castiel told him. “So now, if you bring the thin end up towards your neck loop, you see that you have created another loop behind the thick end, right?” Dean nodded, gaze fixed on his tie. “So, pass the thin end _over_ your neck loop…” Castiel paused until Dean had done so. “Now down through that big loop you made.” Frowning, Dean gently poked the thin end through and gave an experimental tug. “Yup,” said Castiel. “You got it. All you have to do now is tighten it.”

Dean paused, almost as if he were savoring the moment, and then he did so, gently pulling the knot tight around his neck. Castiel’s gaze dragged over Dean’s Adam’s Apple, the little bit of stubble by his right ear that he’d missed in that morning’s shave. He really did have freckles everywhere. And then Dean was turning to Castiel with a huge grin, his eyes shining.

“Look at that!” Dean wiggled the tie into place. “That’s awesome, man! How’d I do?” He tilted his head backwards, leaning towards Castiel and exposing an all-too tempting stretch of neck.

“You did very well, Dean.” Castiel couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Dean, all eager and proud. He caught a whiff of Dean’s aftershave, something delicate and spicy that he absurdly wanted to chase with his mouth. He had to stop himself from closing the space between them, the need for it burning under his skin.

Castiel cleared his throat, and that seemed to break something, to empty his head.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean was saying, oblivious. He was smiling down at his tie, giving himself a bit of a double chin that Castiel _refused_ to acknowledge as adorable. “Y’know.” Dean shook his head a little. “I only ever knew the one knot.”

Castiel nodded. “Half Windsor, probably.”

Dean nodded, still looking down. “Yeah. So it’s the only one I ever taught Sammy.”

Castiel felt his heart clench a little. “Sammy?”

“My kid brother.” Dean’s thumb came up, rubbed at the corner of his mouth. “He goes to Stanford. He’s really freakin’ smart.”

“Like his brother.” Castiel watched him, waited for the rebuke he had a feeling was coming, and right on cue, Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, almost spooked.

“Naw, no—” Dean started, color beginning to flood his neck. “I’m—” But he trailed off when Castiel stared at him, the blush spreading up his cheeks. They stayed like that for a moment, staring at each other, and Castiel began to worry that he had actually taken it a step too far, that Dean was going to pull away as fast as he could, and he held his breath as Dean finally broke eye contact and said, “Where’d you learn all these different knots, anyway?”

Castiel exhaled in a quick puff and tried for a jaunty smile. “YouTube.”

“Christ.” Dean half-laughed, shaking his head. “So there’s hope for us all.” He turned his gaze back to Castiel, who recognized something different in Dean’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was something.

“I guess so,” Castiel replied, smiling, and they were quiet for another moment, then Dean was clearing his throat and standing up and saying, “Well, better get back to it.” Dean paused to give Castiel a nod and to say, “See you later.”

“See you,” Castiel echoed, but Dean was already gone, and Castiel was alone.

“Shit,” Castiel huffed, releasing his breath for what felt like the first time in weeks. And then, to his astonishment, the passenger sitting in the row in front of him poked her head over the seat to level him with a raised eyebrow.

“That was agony,” she said to him, her voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry. Before Castiel could reply, she added, “You two need to get your shit together.”

Somewhere underneath all the surprise, Castiel couldn’t help but feel a little affronted. “I’m working on it.”

Her eyes crinkled, and though he couldn’t see it, he was sure she was smiling. “Work faster,” she said, then stuck her hand over the seats. “Charlie Bradbury. Pleasure.”

Thoroughly amused, Castiel took her hand and shook it. “Castiel Novak. Pleasure’s all mine.”

**  
  
**

**7:28 P.M.**

“Okay, no, you’re not listening to me, what I’m _saying_ is that if Gandalf had just taken a few extra minutes here or there, spent some real quality time, Bilbo wouldn’t have had to go all Dark Side—”

Castiel was shaking his head. “No, Frodo _needs_ to see what the Ring can do to a hobbit, especially a hobbit like Bilbo, who really seems to have all his shit together, so he can _know_ what’s at stake—”

Charlie gestured furiously at him. “But you’re completely missing the point! This has to do with purposeful ignorance and the abuse of knowledge—”

“Oh, my God.” Jo stopped the beverage cart at their seats. “This has got to be the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Charlie ignored her tone and beamed at her. “Hi, Jo.”

Jo almost smiled. “Charlie. What are you, seat hopping now?” Charlie and Castiel had been seated in their same seats from the morning, but Charlie had migrated to Castiel’s seat (and Castiel to the window) once their Tolkien discussion became heated.

“Yup. Meet my buddy Castiel.” Charlie presented him, jazz hands and all. “He’s a new regular.”

Jo fixed her almost-smile on Castiel. “Oh, I know Castiel.” He fought off a squirm. “Anything for you to drink?”

“Diet Coke,” they said at the same time, then turned to look at each other in amazement.

“Wow, you’re soulmates,” Jo said, voice dripped in sarcasm, but she was smiling properly now, so there wasn’t any heat to the words.

Since their meeting that morning, Castiel had learned that Charlie was a software developer by day, hacker by night, and she usually flew down to San Diego every Thursday, sometimes more often, to drop in on her company’s southern branch. She _owned a company_ for video game software. And she hated raisins, was almost a bigger nerd than Castiel, liked to LARP, and she was as gay as the Earth was round.

Castiel loved her.

His new friendship with Charlie was almost enough for him to forget that he hadn’t seen Dean yet, didn’t even know if he was on this flight. Their goodbye that morning had been, well, normal, but Castiel’s brain kept running in circles, trying to pick apart Dean’s “Have a good day, Cas!” as minutely as possible. After their interaction that morning had gotten so personal, and, Castiel had to admit, a bit tense, he was worried that he had crossed a boundary, maybe messed things up.

Charlie told him that he needed to get over himself, and he emphatically agreed with her.

Castiel and Charlie sipped at their soda, and she turned the conversation to more pressing matters. “So.” She ran a hand through her short, wavy, bright red hair and made it even puffier. “Do you know for sure if he’s into guys?” She had met Dean, but hadn’t talked to him as much as she talked to Jo.

“Nope,” Castiel replied, taking another gulp of Diet Coke.

“Hmm. Maybe I can find a way to sneakily ask Jo,” she said, confirming Castiel’s hunch that Dean and Jo were close friends.

Castiel frowned. “Wouldn’t she tell Dean? Or at least sniff me out?”

Charlie snorted and gave him the side eye. “Buddy, I think we’re well past the point of her sniffing you out.”

Castiel groaned, crushing the heel of his hand into his eyes. “Dammit.”

“It’s okay.” Charlie patted his arm. “If what you’re telling me is an accurate portrayal of events, then he’s been flirting with you, too, so your chances are pretty good.”

But Castiel only sighed, and Charlie looked at him. “What’s wrong here, Castiel?” she asked him, her voice quiet. “The worst he can say is no, and if you ask him after your last flight, you never have to see him again, so it doesn’t matter if things get awkward.”

Castiel nodded. “I know. I’m just worried he’ll get in trouble somehow.”

Charlie snorted. “Oh please. People come on to flight attendants all the time, especially the female ones. Turning down propositions is just part of their job.” She caught Castiel’s expression and hurriedly tacked on, “Not that this is the same thing, you know, at all—” Charlie stopped herself short and was suddenly frowning at him. “It isn’t, right? You don’t just want a piece of ass? Because Dean is _way_ too nice for you to pull some shit like that—”

“Don’t worry, Charlie,” Castiel cut in, feeling a blush flood his ears. “A quick hookup isn’t really my style.” What he didn’t say was, _I just hope Dean feels the same way_.

She watched him, seeming to draw confirmation from his face, then nodded and sat back in her seat, suddenly thoughtful. Castiel had to admit, it was fun to see how quickly her mind darted around. “Y’know,” Charlie said, staring off into the distance, “I wonder what the odds are we’ll get Dean if we page for a flight attendant.”

Castiel looked at her in surprise. “He’s on this flight?”

She nodded. “He said hi to me when I went pee in the back.”

“Oh.” Castiel squinted at the prospect of probability math. “Not good, I would think, because if he’s working the back half of the plane--”

But Charlie was already reaching up, jabbing at the call button above her seat, and Castiel was left to stare at her in wonder.

“Balls the size of an elephant,” he said. She let out a greasy little “heh heh!” and wiggled her hips in response.

And, lo and behold. Dean appeared, customer-service smile in place, which cracked into a real grin when he saw Charlie. “Can I help you?” His eyes flickered to Castiel, and his grin seemed to widen.

“Yup.” Charlie grinned right back at him. “I wanted to see the fancy knot my buddy Castiel taught you.” She put on a show of staring really hard at his neck.

Dean tweaked at his tie, which Castiel noticed was still perfectly tied. “Oh yeah? Your buddy?”

“Or soulmate. Haven’t decided yet.” Charlie let out a low whistle and raised her eyebrows. “That’s some fancy knot work there, Deano.”

“What can I say,” he replied, looking at Castiel. “I had a good teacher.” Then, as Castiel began to huff, “How was your day, Cas?” Dean leaned an elbow on Charlie’s empty seat.

Castiel sighed a little. “Fine, but I’m ready for it to be Friday.” Charlie let out a little, “Amen!” but Castiel still watched Dean. “What about you?’

Dean shrugged. “Not too bad. Would’ve been better with pie, though.” And then, because the universe hated Castiel, Dean fucking _winked_.

Castiel coughed out a laugh. “Duly noted.”

Dean leaned away, drummed on the seatback. “All right, so did you guys actually need anythin’?”

“No,” Charlie sang. “Just wanted to see your beautiful face.”

“Ditto, sweetheart. But I gotta get back to it.” Dean gave them a jaunty salute, and sent Castiel a nod. “Cas.”

“Dean,” Castiel replied, and as soon as Dean was gone, out of earshot, Charlie started to laugh. She turned her smile on Castiel and said, “I think you’ve got a little more than just a fighting chance, _Cas._ ”

Castiel bumped her arm with his elbow and sent up a little prayer, hoping that she was right.

 

 

 

**Day Five**

**7:04 P.M.**

Castiel had just gotten settled in his seat and was in the middle of pulling out his book when he heard, “Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” he replied, glancing at Dean before diving back in for his book. Then, he stopped, and looked up again, because, “Why are you in civvies?”

Dean was smirking as he stood in the aisle and leaned against what had been Charlie’s seat the day before. “I clock off one flight early on Fridays. Just hitchin’ a ride home.”

Castiel’s mouth went dry, and it had everything to do with the way Dean’s well-worn jeans were hanging off his hips. He noticed that Dean was wearing a necklace of some kind, then realized he was staring and tried to smile. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.” Dean leaned forward, playful. “And guess what else?”

Castiel was really smiling now. “What?”

“I get to pick my seat.” Dean raised his eyebrows, then, before Castiel could say anything, Dean slid his way across Charlie’s seat and settled by the window. Castiel could only see his eyes, which were bright and mischievous.

“You don’t say,” Castiel deadpanned.

Dean chuckled, and the sound made the back of Castiel’s neck burn.

**  
  
**

**7:31 P.M.**

Castiel wasn’t sure how they started talking, but once they did, they couldn’t seem to stop.

“Wow,” Castiel was saying. “I don’t think I’ve heard any of those theories about Jar-Jar.”

Dean nodded. “Definitely a Sith lord.” He shook his head, let out a pained smile. “God, I still can’t believe Sam got ahold of a Jar-Jar toy. I never came so close to murderin’ someone.”

They both chuckled, and as silence fell, Castiel asked him, “So how’s he liking Stanford?”

“Oh, man, he freakin’ loves it.” Dean’s gaze went far away, and he leaned back against his window, sitting parallel on the seats with his legs up. His seat belt wasn’t even buckled. “He can’t get enough.”

“That’s good.” Castiel watched him, waiting.

But Dean cleared his throat, smiled. “He really liked the Atlantic. Hey.” He sat up suddenly, just shy of banging his head on the ceiling above the seats. “Show me another one?”

So that was how Castiel ended up sitting next to Dean again, barely six inches separating them as Dean watched Castiel tie a Cape knot. Castiel glanced at him, pausing in his narration, and fought a tremor when Dean worried at his lip.

Then, he handed over his own tie, and after a few tries, Dean had success. He beamed as he loosened Castiel’s tie and pulled it off, grinning at Castiel’s light applause.

“Wow,” Dean laughed. “Is it lame that this is probably the wildest Friday night I’ve had in, like, months?”

Castiel stared at him. “Dean. I sincerely hope that was a joke.”

Dean laughed some more. “Nope, it’s not.”

“In that case,” Castiel replied, finding courage he didn’t know he had, “I’m buying you a drink.”

“Oh really?” Dean teased him, his eyes bright.

“Yup.” Castiel hit the call button for an attendant, his heart pounding.

“Gee, Cas, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get in my pants.” Dean was still teasing, but Castiel could hear the caution behind the words. Huh. Maybe _not_ interested in something that was just a hook-up.

Castiel fixed him with a look. “Please, Dean, grant me a little more romance than that.”

Dean made a sound somewhere between a cough and a squeak as he tried not to laugh. “Romance?”

“Oh, yes.” Castiel sat back in his seat, playing along, but fully aware that they were dancing along some sort of boundary. “There would be datage.”

Dean made the sound again, staring at him with an incredulous grin. “Datage?”

Castiel smiled down at his hands. “There’s a little Italian place two streets down from where I live. We’d share some appetizers, a nice bottle of wine, stuff ourselves with pizza and tiramisu. Then we’d walk across the street to a little gallery, maybe some hand holding while we debate the art. And . . .” He trailed off and looked up, and was shocked to find that Dean wasn’t smiling at him anymore, was staring at him instead.

“And then what?” Dean’s voice was low, quiet.

Castiel’s mouth was suddenly dry. “And then. . .” _In for a penny,_ he thought. “The roof of my apartment building has a great view of the sky.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched. “Star-gazing, huh?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean was still looking at him, something in his eyes so open and raw that Castiel couldn’t look away. “Cas,” said Dean, voice still low, reverent, and Castiel’s mind went blank, because he could hear the anticipation, could almost hear the question that he wanted so desperately to come out of Dean’s mouth—

“Hi, there!” A small, bubbly, flight attendant appeared in the aisle and beamed down at them. Dean jumped like he’d been scalded. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

Castiel wanted to scream, but he forced a smile instead. “I’d like to purchase a few drinks.”

“Sure! What can I get you?” She pulled a card reader out of her apron pocket.

“Rum and Coke,” Castiel replied, then looked at Dean, who added, “Jack. Straight.”

Castiel passed over his credit card and was glad when Dean didn’t put up a fuss. Dean looked down at his lap as they finished up the payment process, then when the flight attendant left, he sent Castiel that tiny, private smile and said, “All right, man, it’s time to _party_ ,” and Castiel realized that, yup, he was falling hard, and it was too late to stop himself.

**  
  
**

**10:35 P.M.**

Castiel slid into bed, pulling the covers up and over his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dean, or about what Dean was going to say before the flight attendant cut him off. Was it going to be a rejection? He cursed into his pillow, his mind replaying images of Dean’s throat rippling as he swallowed, Dean’s teeth shining as he laughed at something Castiel said, Dean’s hand brushing Castiel’s arm as he wiggled around in his seat.

If Castiel had thought that he couldn’t get any more attracted to Dean, he couldn’t be more wrong.

Because that was the thing. Dean wasn’t just a pretty face (although his face was undeniably pretty). He just seemed to fit, a puzzle piece Castiel hadn’t known was missing from his life.

After tossing and turning for longer than he wanted to admit, Castiel fell into a fitful sleep, Dean’s promise to see him on Monday echoing in his mind.

 

 

 

**Days Six and Seven**

Saturday was unremarkable, if disjointed. Castiel ran two miles less than usual and scraped his knee when he tripped on a curb, accidentally locked Kitty in the bathroom, and banged his head on the ceiling of his fridge while he was trying to scrub it out. After that, he gave up on being productive, ordered Indian food, and spent the next few hours deep in the throes of a _Doctor Sexy_ Netflix binge.

Sunday, though, things started to look up.

Castiel added the last two miles back onto his run, pleasantly exhausted as he took a shower and jerked off, grunting out yet another “Dean—!” as he came on the tiles. He ignored Kitty’s judgemental side-eye as he got dressed, telling himself that his good mood was the result of his run, not because he was looking forward to seeing Dean again the next morning. Nope. Not at all.

The farmer’s market was busy, but not crowded, and Castiel sipped at an iced tea as he wandered through the vendors, picking up honey from a local, enigmatic beekeeper named Cain and buying a peach that he ate as he walked, the juice sliding down his wrist.

He was just passing a kettle corn stand, the scent of hot sugar and salt drifting through the air, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Okay, Sammy, enough with the rabbit food—”

A groan. “Really, Dean? Kettle corn? Again?”

A laugh, and the voice getting closer: “C’mon, Sammy, lighten up—”

Hardly daring to believe it, Castiel turned around, and yup, there was Dean, not five feet behind him, wearing the same jeans and, Castiel lamented, a Metallica tank top that left nothing about his toned arms and amazing collar bones to the imagination.

Castiel felt his face start to burn, whether from attraction or embarrassment, he didn’t know, and he turned back around, seized by a sudden urge to _get out of there_ , but before he could even take a step—

“Cas?”

Castiel winced, then slowly turned to face Dean. For a second, Castiel felt a rush of _thank God_ for his decision to wear sunglasses, because he was pretty sure that if Dean could see his eyes right now, he’d see everything. But Castiel cleared his throat with a small cough and smiled. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean looked as surprised as he felt, but he smiled back and stepped closer. “I should’ve known you’d be a farmer’s market kind of guy.” He shook his head. “What’re the odds, man?”

“Whatever they were, they just blipped into nonexistence.” Castiel noticed the person standing just behind Dean, and logic told him it must be Sam. Sam was tall, absurdly so, and Castiel supposed his brown hair was a little on the long side, but he looked friendly enough, almost like the owner of an easily excited dog, and he watched Dean in a half-annoyed sort of way.

Dean was busy leaning forward and peering in Castiel’s canvas shopping  bag. “Honey, a bunch of green leafy shit, and… what are those, apricots?” He straightened up and shook his head at Castiel, but he was smiling. “Man, and I thought you were okay.”

Castiel sighed dramatically. “Well, Dean, as much as I would like to eat Double Doubles every day, I’m afraid my doctor has other ideas.”

Dean laughed. “That’s all right. So long as your heart’s in the right place.”

Castiel waited a moment, then raised his eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your brother?”

“Right!” Dean turned around, pulled Sam forward by his shirt sleeve. “Cas, Sammy, Sammy, Cas.”

“Sam,” Sam corrected him, but smiled as he shook Castiel’s hand. Castiel had to tilt his head back a little bit to look at him, and wow, Sam sure was a tall human.

“Sam,” Castiel repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Sam stepped back, swinging their shopping bag in a thoughtful sort of way, and said, “It’s good to put a face to the name. You’re all Dean’s talked about this past week.”

Castiel felt his mouth drop open just as Dean coughed and turned bright red. “Really?” said Castiel, loving this moment, loving the way Dean squirmed. “You don’t say!”

“All right, Sammy,” Dean gritted out, “don’t you have more carrots to buy or somethin’?” He shoved his brother away from Castiel, towards the next stall.

“Yup,” said Sam, smirking. “Bye, Castiel!”

“Bye, Sam!” Castiel grinned as Dean gave Sam another push for good measure, then stopped next to Castiel, hands on his hips and eyes on the ground, scuffing the pavement with the toe of his Converse. It was adorable.

“I, uh,” Dean tried. He let out a single, nervous laugh, and the tips of his ears were still red. “He, ah, he was just kiddin’—”

Castiel watched him, and wondered why Dean seemed to be so nervous, because Sam could have been joking. Then, suddenly, perhaps because Dean looked the way Castiel felt, Castiel’s stomach dropped and he realized that he was an idiot, and that Dean might be nervous for a _reason_ . Maybe he _liked_ Castiel, in a way that went beyond the bounds of a hook-up and might jeopardize their professional interaction.

Well. Castiel had to make himself clear, didn’t he?

Castiel stepped forward, knowing that after this, it would be too late to turn back, to pretend it was misunderstanding or a mistake, and rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder. His skin was warm and smooth, the muscle under it tense. “Dean. I’m not offended. I don’t mind.”

Dean stilled, lifted his gaze first to Castiel’s hand, then slowly, to his face. The air between them seemed to hum. “You don’t?”

Castiel shook his head. “Nope.” But he could see Dean was still a little on-edge, so he added, “If my sister were here, she would’ve told you the same thing. Except, you know. About me.”

That got the reaction he wanted. Dean’s eyes widened, and his mouth slid into a smile. “Oh really?” Teasing again. “You been talkin’ about me, Cas?”

Castiel grinned back, hardly daring to believe that this was going so well. “Maybe.”

“Aw, I’m flattered,” Dean drawled, shifting ever so slightly closer.

And that, as Charlie would say, was an undeniable opening. It wasn’t in Castiel’s imagination, and he, with his own eyes as proof, couldn’t deny the way Dean was leaning into him, smiling at him, waiting on him to reply. Castiel looked at him, looked at the way Dean seemed to glow in the mid-morning sunlight, his freckles standing out against his cheeks and his hair half-mussed, a tiny piece of sleep stuck in the corner of his eye. And he was smiling at him, at _Cas_. Out here, in public, not because he had to or should, but before Cas could say anything—

“Hey, Cas?” Just a touch of nervousness again.

Castiel blinked, and doubts began to fill his mind. Dean could still turn him down, push him away. “Yes, Dean?”

Dean looked at him, no longer teasing, and said, “I really liked the sound of that date you were talkin’ about.”

Relief flooded through Castiel’s veins, and he almost couldn’t believe his ears. But he went with it, smiled again, and said, “Good, because I was planning on asking you out at the end of this week.”

Dean grinned, and it was like another sun had burst out of the sky. “And what if I was gonna ask _you_ out at the end of the week?”

Castiel choked on a laugh, hardly daring to believe his luck. “I guess we can reach some sort of compromise.”

“HEY, DEAN!"

They both jumped and broke apart, Castiel’s hand falling to his side. Sam was grinning at both of them, looking far too smug from two vendors down.

Rattled, and clearly ticked, Dean barked back a, “What, Sammy?”

“We’ve got five minutes left on our parking spot!”

“Dammit,” Dean hissed, and he turned back to Cas, his eyes hopeful. “See you tomorrow?”

Castiel fought off a wave of disappointment and nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Dean reached out, snagged Castiel’s free hand, and gave it a quick squeeze. “Bye, Cas.”

Castiel smiled at him, thrilled at the contact, and squeezed back. “Bye, Dean.”

Dean smiled, let go, then jogged to his brother. Sam waved at Castiel, and Castiel waved in return, watching as they walked towards the parking garage. He could’ve sworn the day had never looked so beautiful. **  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank god they're finally on the same page, right??? gotta love a mutual understanding. next chapter things'll kick into a higher gear. 
> 
> I love you guys, thank you for reading!!


	2. Week 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my incredible lateness. school is ridiculous. 
> 
> after a few delays, they get their shit together *confetti cannons*

**Day 8**

 

Castiel felt like he was floating, and that was saying a lot, considering that he still had to wake up at 3:15. But security was quick, the terminal was quiet, and when Dean handed him a can of Diet Coke, his fingers lingered on Castiel’s for an extra moment or two.

Castiel knew they had to be normal, that Dean couldn’t show anything resembling favoritism or personal involvement, but Castiel couldn’t stop replaying their conversation over and over again in his head, hearing Dean’s words —  _ “And what if I was gonna ask you out?” _ — as he tried to focus on his book. Thanks to Dean, and, he guessed, Charlie, he still hadn’t finished the Grisham. 

He zoned out during a couple meetings, daydreaming of Dean’s hands and mouth, and apologized to his bewildered co-workers for his lack of focus.

Then, much later that evening, he waited for Dean to disembark and handed him a bag of kettle corn in the terminal. “I felt bad,” Castiel said with a smile. “You never ended up buying any.”

Dean nudged him, pleased as punch. “Thanks, Cas.”

They parted ways at the exit again, wishing each other goodnight. It was only when Castiel fell into bed that night that he realized he hadn’t looked at his watch once, and that he still didn’t have Dean’s phone number.

 

****

**Day 9**

 

**9:42 A.M…**

… was the precise moment when everything went to shit.

One of the ground floor apartments in Castiel’s brand-new, about-to-be-opened apartment building exploded. “Gas leak,” Jack, his main partner in San Diego, had gritted out as they made dozens of desperate phone calls, trying to figure out what was going on and how long the project was going to be delayed. 

Only a couple weeks, they were told, but they were so weighed down with damage control that Castiel’s company told him to stay in San Diego the next three nights.

“Don’t worry about Kitty,” said Hael over the phone. “I’ll take care of her.” 

“Thank you.” Castiel tried to put all of his gratitude into his voice. “Thank you, Hael.” 

“Of course, boss.” She hesitated. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I know.” But it didn’t feel like it. 

His hotel room was nice, if a little on the small side. He gave his clothes to the overnight dry cleaning service and pulled on his spare boxer briefs. Castiel turned on the TV and sat on his bed, staring out the window at the glimmering city below. With a start, he realized that Dean didn’t know why Castiel wasn’t on their usual flight home. Castiel checked his watch. The plane had left almost an hour ago.

_ Would he worry? _ a tiny, mean voice in the back of his mind piped up. Castiel shook his head, rolled his eyes. Of course Dean would worry. Castiel hadn’t known him long, but it was clear that Dean worried about everyone.

But he still didn’t have Dean’s number. He briefly contemplated texting Charlie, but she didn’t have Dean’s number, either, so she wouldn’t be able to pass on the message for another two days. So, he opened his laptop and pulled up Facebook. 

Castiel wasn’t one for much social media, but he found Dean’s profile with ease. In the profile picture, Dean was caught mid-laugh, a gigantic fish in his hands and a fishing rod propped next to him. He was on a boat. He looked happy. And it was clear how he had gotten so many freckles, even though he spent most of his days inside a plane. Castiel clicked the button to begin a message and started typing:

 

**Castiel:** Hello, Dean.

**Castiel:** Due to unforeseen developments, I will be remaining in San Diego for the next few days and flying home Friday night, hence my absence from tonight’s flight. 

 

_ I miss you _ , Castiel wanted to say, but he didn’t. Instead, he said,

**Castiel:** I hope your flights went well today. Goodnight. 

 

Castiel stared at Dean’s profile picture for another moment, then closed his laptop and went over to his mini fridge. 

He really needed a drink.

 

 

**Day 10**

 

**10:47 A.M.**

The press attention on the gas explosion made it impossible for Castiel to go and look at the damage himself, but the photos and videos taken by the response crew were enough for him to feel like there was an elephant sitting on his stomach. The torn, twisted remains of the apartment seemed to burn into his retina. His first solo project for the company, and here they were. 

Sour, Castiel shut the lid of his laptop and turned his glare towards the floor-to-ceiling windows. He was sitting in the conference room that acted as his San Diego office, between meetings and mercifully alone for the first time that morning. 

The weather was beautiful. A rich blue sky, sunshine, birds singing, all the crap that Castiel couldn’t bring himself to enjoy. He recognized that he was in a funk and gave exactly zero fucks. He was allowed to be grumpy.

Not wanting to face his laptop screen again, he pulled out his phone. In all the craziness, he hadn’t had a chance to look at it after slapping off his alarm earlier that morning. Castiel woke up his screen and, when he saw how many notifications he had, he raised an eyebrow. 

Texts, mostly from Anna and Gabe. 

 

**Anna:** Hey, just saw the news. everything ok?

**Anna:** I really hope they aren’t blaming you for this

**Anna:** call soon?

**Gabe:** shit, bro. what happened?

**Gabe:** they’re saying gas leak but i dont buy that shit for a min

**Gabe:** were spies fighting in there? Or was a mafia hit?

**Gabe:** cmon bro you ca ntell me

 

And a photo from Hael. It was Kitty, on her back and displaying her fluffy tummy to the camera, and Castiel could see what he assumed were Hael’s fingers, deep in Kitty’s fur. Kitty’s eyes were closed and she looked very pleased.

**Hael:** omg tummy fluff!!!

 

Castiel shot off a series of replies, then frowned when he saw that he still had a notification. Facebook, telling him he had a message, and to download “Messenger” to view it.

“That seems redundant,” Castiel grumbled, but did so, tapping his fingers impatiently as the app loaded. It seemed to take forever, but then he was opening the app and confirming his login and—

 

**Dean:** heh why do u write messages like theyre letters?

**Dean:** sorry you had to stay :( 

**Dean:** everything ok?

 

Castiel fought a smile. He sat for a moment, hearing Gabe’s voice telling him to play hard to get, then figured,  _ eh, what the fuck. _

 

**Castiel:** Hello, Dean. Yes, everything’s fine, thank you. 

 

And then, feeling a little wild, he added,

 

**Castiel:** How’s your day off?

 

Dean didn’t reply until that afternoon, and Castiel didn’t see it until he was exiting the office building just after 7 PM. He was exhausted, drained, ready for a room service burger. 

 

**Dean:** awesome. i waxed baby, went for a hike

**Dean:** grilling steak for dinner

**Dean:** potatoes too

**Dean:** not grillin them tho just baking. are grilled potatoes even good? i dunno

_ Later: _

**Dean:** i put a potato on the grill

**Dean:** sam says there has to be broccoli n im thinking about locking him in the closet

 

Castiel smiled at Dean’s peppered messages. He seemed eager to stay in touch, too. 

 

**Castiel:** I cannot tell you how good a steak sounds right now. 

**Castiel:** Not even one piece of broccoli?

 

Dean’s reply came as Castiel was getting undressed, and Castiel would never tell a single soul about the way he dove for his bed when he heard the chirp of an incoming message.

 

**Dean:** im sorry, have u met me???

**Dean:** im hurt, cas

**Dean:** shocked

**Dean:** dismayed

**Dean:** disappointed.

 

Castiel laughed for the first time that day, and that night, he dreamed of a dusty trail and Dean’s hand in his. 

 

 

**Day 11**

 

Castiel’s supervisor in San José called him before lunch, checking in and updating him on the bureaucratic side of things. By the end of it, Castiel was ready to crawl back into bed, even though his supervisor told him, “Look, you’re doing a really great job handling this. Try not to stress too much, okay?”

Castiel had swallowed a humorless laugh, assured his supervisor that he wouldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from buying an enormous piece of Geraldine’s chocolate pie and stuffing his face with it. He took a photo of the slice and sent it to Dean.

 

_ Attachment: 1 photo _

**Castiel:** #stresseating

 

Later that afternoon, in a short break between meetings with their lawyers:

 

**Dean:** i hate u bring me some

**Dean:** u know how to use hashtags??

 

Castiel huffed a laugh.

 

**Castiel:** #yes #dean

**Castiel:** #have #a #safe #flight

 

Dean’s reply came much later, in the brief slot of time before his second-to-last and last flights of the evening. Castiel was in a local diner close to his hotel waiting for his burger, and he glanced at the time when he opened the messages. He had a good chance of Dean replying before takeoff. 

 

**Dean:** i take back what i said about the hashtags

**Dean:** clearly i was wrong

**Dean:** jo just dropped her suitcase on my foot. she owes me pie for a year

**Castiel:** Are you all right?

 

Dean’s reply came not even a minute later:

 

**Dean:** haha yes. i faked it

**Dean:** dont tell jo

 

Castiel grinned down at his phone.

**Castiel:** wouldn’t dream of it.

**Dean:** good

 

Castiel was in the middle of typing when a few more messages pinged through. He read them and immediately felt his cheeks warm. 

 

**Dean:** know what i think?

**Dean:** i think we should graduate from fb

**Dean:** it’s high time i got your digits

 

Castiel couldn’t seem to type fast enough. He refused to admit that his fingers were shaking. A moment later, his phone buzzed with a new text.

 

**< unknown number>** there u r

_ Contact information changed to Winchester, Dean _

**Me:** hello, dean

**Dean:** hi babe

 

Castiel felt his heart flutter at the term of endearment, which,  _ what. _ Dumb.

 

**Dean:** crap i g2g

**Dean:** plane’s leaving the ground n shit

**Dean:** talk later?

 

Castiel rushed to type out his reply.

 

**Castiel:** of course. Have a safe flight.

  
  


**10:41 P.M.**

Castiel looked up in surprise when his phone began to ring. He had to reach all the way across the bed to grab it, and his heart began to pound when he saw the caller ID flashing, “Dean Winchester.”

He answered with a breathless, “Dean.”

A soft laugh. “Hey.” His voice sounded different on the phone. 

“You called me,” said Castiel, more out of surprise than anything, then immediately regretted it.

“Yeah, uh, I, um.” Dean cleared his throat. “Is that… okay?”

“More than okay,” Castiel rushed to assure him. “I’m just not used to getting calls from someone other than my boss. It’s a welcome change.”

Dean tittered, seemed to loosen up. “He ride your ass a lot?”

“Well… not always. But these past couple days have been an exception.”

There was a rustle from Dean’s end that sounded suspiciously like a candy bar. “You wanna talk about it?”

Castiel let out his breath, and then a wave of words followed. He told Dean everything, about the explosion and the fallout and the press and the damage control. He vented about the contractor who fucked up, about his paranoia that this would cost him his relatively new job, about how much he hated sleeping alone in the stupid hotel. 

Dean hummed. “You miss your cat, don’t you?” 

“Kitty,” Castiel filled in for him. “Yes.” He hesitated, then in another one of those rare moments of courage, he added, “I miss you.”

He fancied he could hear Dean’s smile. “I miss you too.” Then his voice got a little softer. “I miss your voice.”

Castiel smiled. “Funny. I miss yours.” 

Dean was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was even deeper, huskier. “Oh yeah, Cas?”

Castiel’s breathing hitched, because  _ fuck _ . He adjusted himself in his boxers and said, “Dean, I think we should change the subject, otherwise we will verge into territory that I would like to save for  _ after _ our first date.”

Dean laughed. “You got it, Cas,” he cheesed, his voice back to normal. “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Uh.” Castiel scrambled for the remote and turned down the volume, but not before the all-too recognizable transition music jolted through the room. “Just some crap TV, I don’t really know, I just turned it on—”

“Cas. Are you watchin’  _ Doctor Sexy _ ?”

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. “Um. Yes?”

“And did you just turn it on, or were you actually watchin’ it?”

Castiel hated that he blushed. “Watching it,” he grumbled into the phone. 

Dean hummed. “How about that.” There was a rustle, and then the background noise on his end got louder and louder, until Castiel realized that he was hearing duplicated dialogue, that Dean was watching  _ Doctor Sexy _ as well. 

Dean was already back and chuckling into the phone. “Well, at least we’re never going to fight over what to watch for Netflix and chill.”

“My, Dean, how forward,” Castiel deadpanned, and smiled when Dean chuckled again. 

They ended up watching the whole episode together, trading comments about Tamara’s infidelity and Kevin’s self-destructive tendencies. When they finally hung up some twenty minutes later, Castiel realized they still hadn’t set plans for their date.

 

 

**Day 12**

 

**7:27 P.M.**

“Here,” said Castiel, his voice low as he passed over the box. “As promised.”

Dean’s eyes were huge. “Is this—?”

“Chocolate cream.” Castiel smirked. “Go wild.”

Dean sucked in a breath and popped open the lid, letting out a croak at he looked down at the slice. He accepted a fork from Castiel and muttered, “Okay, I’m keeping you.”

Castiel smirked. “I hope this won’t ruin your appetite for dinner.”

“Are you kidding me, this  _ is  _ my dinner.” Dean took a bite and the sound he made was pornographic.

“Dean!” Castiel smacked him lightly on the arm. “People can hear you!”

“Heh. Sorry.” Dean shook his head, but he winked at Castiel.

They were sitting in business class, a few rows up from Castiel’s usual spot. Dean was done for the day and in his civvies again, and his hair was rumpled in a way that Castiel found both endearing and distracting.

Their reunion had been pleasant, though muted, given their surroundings. Castiel had already taken his seat when Dean found him, and hugging would’ve been too conspicuous, so they settled for trading smiles. Dean had chosen the seat beside Castiel and they’d spent some time catching up, with Castiel trying to find the right moment to pass over the slice of pie. 

“So what does Sam do during the summer?” Castiel found himself asking. 

“Takes more classes,” Dean said through another mouthful. “He’s a freakin’ loon.”

“How much longer does he have left?” Castiel replied. He’d been dancing around the question of Dean’s age for a while, and he figured this would be one way of getting an answer.

“Well, he’s graduatin’ early, on account of bein’ such a genius.” Dean was all pride as he grinned. “So he’s done in December, but he’s headin’ straight to law school if he’s got a say in it.”

“That’s wonderful, Dean.” Okay, so maybe not a gigantic age difference between himself and Dean, who Castiel knew was four years older than Sam.

“I know, huh?” Dean was practically preening. “He’s always been such a whiz kid. Knew it was just a matter of time and he’d end up exactly where he wanted to be.”

“So Stanford was the bid from early on?”

“From, like, age twelve.” Dean rolled his eyes but Castiel could see that his exasperation was all show.

“Legacy?”

Dean barked a laugh. “Hell no. Mom went to University of Kansas and Dad didn’t do school at all.” He shrugged. “I don’t really know where Sam got the idea from.”

Castiel looked at him with interest. This was the first time Dean had mentioned either of his parents. “And where are they now?” he said, careful. “Your parents?”

Dean looked down at his slice, poked at the whipped cream, seemed to weigh his words. “Uh, gone.” He cleared his throat. “It’s been just me and Sammy for a long time.”

“Dean.” Castiel resisted the urge to touch him in some way. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Dean smiled, but it wasn’t a smile. “It’s all right, man, it was a long time ago.” He shifted, and the air seemed to change, like he had just closed the book on that conversation. He was looking at Castiel again. “Tell me more about the dickbags in the San Diego office.”

  
  


**8:48 P.M.**

“So.”

Castiel looked up, stopped gathering his things. Dean was jittery, staring down at his lap. They were on the ground, and the seatbelt sign had just gone off. All the other passengers were up and about, getting ready to disembark.

“So,” Castiel replied. 

“You, uh.” Dean’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “You still want to do this thing?”

Castiel fought a grin. “If ‘this thing’ is in reference to going on a date with you, then yes.” 

Dean finally looked up, smiling at Castiel. “Good.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. “What would you like to do?”

“Uh, I have this friend, and he’s got this dumb band, and they have a show tomorrow night, if that sounds good to you.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a great venue, I know the people that own it, and we can bail if they totally flop—”

“That sounds great, Dean.”

Dean smiled properly now, his nerves disappearing. “Yeah?”

Castiel smiled back. “Yeah! Where should I meet you?”

Dean handed him a card for someplace called the Roadhouse, and told Castiel how to get there. It wasn’t until after they had parted ways at the exit with another brief squeeze of hands that Castiel realized the Roadhouse was a ten minute walk from his apartment. 

When Castiel opened the door to said apartment, there was no sign of Kitty. “I’m home!” Castiel called out to the empty, dark apartment, to no effect. 

He went from room to room, turning on lights as he went, and eventually found her deep in his duvet, between the case and the padding. She stared at him, then yawned and rolled over, turning her back on him. 

Castiel chuckled. “Message received.” He extracted himself from the duvet and patted Kitty from on top of the case. “I missed you, too.”

 

****

**Day 12**

 

**7:54 P.M.**

Castiel fought every fiber of his being to not show up fifteen minutes early.

He got there five minutes early, instead.

He propped himself by the front door of the Roadhouse. The building sure looked like one, heavy on the rustic vibe and reeking of beer. But it had an open patio and it seemed pretty big, if the people spilling out of it were any indication. Castiel leaned on the brick wall by the front door and fought the urge to puke. He had zero reason to be this nervous.

“Cas?”

Cas grinned, stomach jumping into his throat, and turned around. “Hello, Dean.” 

Dean gave him this bright grin, coming in close to Castiel, close enough that Castiel could smell that delicious aftershave again. “You’re early.”

“So are you,” Castiel replied, taking him in. Dean was wearing nice jeans and a button-down, simple but sharp with his necklace poking out, and his hair was messier, tousled. In the half-light, the pink swell of his lip seemed even more inviting than usual, and his eyes were bright. “You look good.”

Dean leaned in even closer, his mouth tantalizingly close. “You don’t look so bad, yourself.”

“I, uh, ah.” Castiel blinked. “Inside?”

Dean seemed to know exactly what he was doing to Castiel, and he grinned. “Yep.” 

They found their way to the host’s podium. Inside, the bar-slash-restaurant was dark and pretty packed, booths and tables crowded with customers, pool tables on one end, a bar in the middle, and a decent-sized stage on the other end. There was classic rock throbbing over the speakers, and Castiel realized that this was probably the coolest place he had been in his entire life. 

Dean hailed the host, who was a guy about their age and rocking a mullet. “Ash! What, they trust you to handle the front now?”

“Just when Jo’s not working,” Ash replied, and it took Castiel a moment to connect the dots. Jo as in flight-attendant Jo?

“You got a table?” Ash was saying, and Dean leaned over the podium, pointed to a list that Castiel couldn’t see. Ash nodded, crossed it off. “Go right ahead.”

“Thanks, Ash!” Then, Dean’s hand was on Castiel’s, pulling him past the bar, where an empty booth squatted against the wall, about twenty feet from the front of the stage.

Castiel stared at him as they sat down. 

“What?” 

“How do you know everyone?” Castiel asked him, earning a laugh. 

“You remember Jo?” At Castiel’s nod, Dean continued: “Her ma, Ellen, owns this joint. It’s been here forever. Jo works here every once in a while, but she’s in the air tonight.” He passed Castiel a menu. “Now shut up and pick your burger.”

Castiel grinned, opened the menu. “Mouthy.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean teased him. He leaned forward in that same tantalizing way as before, and under the table, his foot brushed Castiel’s leg. “What’re you gonna do about it?” 

Castiel kept his eyes on the menu. “Probably give it something else to keep it occupied.”

“Mmm, baby,” Dean purred, leaning even closer. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

Castiel flushed, but before he could say anything, a waitress appeared. They both ordered a beer and some variation on a cheeseburger. 

“Red meat and hops,” said Dean as she whisked away. He winked at Castiel. “My kind of man.”

“You stole the words right out of my mouth,” Castiel replied, simpering and batting his eyelashes at Dean. Dean laughed, a sharp, bright sound, and Castiel fought off a sudden case of butterflies.

  
  


**8:26 P.M.**

“So tell me about this band.” Castiel swallowed a large bite of his burger and chased it with some beer. “What should I expect?”

“Uhhhh.” Dean bit a fry in half. “Indie rock mixed with blues.”

Castiel considered. “That sounds pretty solid.” 

Dean shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

Their burgers — which were stupidly good — didn’t last long, and Castiel realized how comfortable he was. Conversation flowed easily between them, unabated. It was like having dinner with a friend, which he supposed was actually true, except that this particular friend kept his foot nudged up against Castiel’s leg, all cheeky and inviting.

The band was actually kind of great. Chuck, the lead singer and Dean’s friend, had an earthy, saxophone-y voice, and the songs were catchy. Castiel couldn’t help but watch Dean as they played, watch the way he smiled, mouthed along to the words, swayed to the guitar. They were both several beers in at this point, and tipsy to the point of being too touchy, so it didn’t take much for Castiel to lean in once the band had finished playing and say, “Want to get out of here?”

The night air was cool, and Dean giggled when he slipped on the step out of the Roadhouse. “Whoa, there!” cautioned Castiel, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “Careful!”

Dean squeezed his hand, stepped away then swayed in close. His eyes were shining as he grinned. “Always.” 

They set off down the street, which seemed to gleam in the light of the street lamps and store fronts. It was relatively empty, the night crowds all in bars or restaurants, and they had the sidewalk to themselves. “I love cities at night,” Dean sighed, warm at Castiel’s side. He had thrown his head back, and he was looking up above them at stars hidden by clouds. “S’the only time when they’re pretty from down below and up above.” The lamps threw an orange haze across his features, and for a moment, he was so beautiful that Castiel couldn’t think of what to say. 

When Castiel did find his words, he stopped where he was and said, “Dean?”

Dean stopped, too, all loose and smiling. “Yeah?”

Castiel wasn’t ashamed of the way his voice dropped when he said, “Can I kiss you?” 

Dean’s smile disappeared, but he stared at Castiel with an expression full of yearning. “Please,” he murmured, and that was all Castiel needed. 

Castiel pulled him closer, savoring the way Dean’s eyes slid shut in response. He wrapped his free hand around Dean’s waist, feeling the warm puff of Dean’s breath against his face before he closed the distance and pressed his mouth to Dean’s. 

A low-burning fire seemed to ignite under Castiel’s skin. Dean’s mouth was a warm ember against his own, and his lips were plush, firm, and Castiel held it there for a moment, searing the memory of this simple embrace into his mind before he deepened the kiss. He kept it slow at first, meeting the roll of Dean’s movements and reveling in the feel of Dean’s lips, then he grazed Dean’s bottom lip with his tongue and sucked on it until Dean let out a groan, opening his mouth and letting Castiel claim it. Dean tasted like beer and the mint he had popped before leaving, and then Castiel’s hand was in Dean’s hair, pulling him even closer and licking deep, running his tongue over those stupidly nice teeth, Dean’s body a burning line against his, and then Dean broke away with a gasp, his eyes blazing and his hair going in ten different directions. 

“Uh, Cas,” he panted, sounding wrecked.

Castiel’s hand was holding the side of Dean’s face, and he stroked his thumb along Dean’s jawline. “Yes, Dean?” His own voice wasn’t much better.

“I, uh.” Dean’s gaze flickered between Castiel and the street. “I just wanna be clear. I don’t—” He stopped, blushed, and Castiel’s heart thundered in his ears. “I don’t want  _ just _ a hookup.”

He was looking at the ground again, and Castiel nudged a finger under Dean’s chin, bringing his gaze back up. Dean’s eyes were glittering in the dark, almost black. “Neither do I.” 

Dean stared at him for a second, then fell back onto Castiel, covering his mouth with kisses and pushing him up against the closest building. Thrilled, Castiel gave back as good as he got and pulled them flush at the hip, grinding against the hard lump he found there. Both of them let out a groan at the friction, breaking apart again.

Dean’s mouth was at Castiel’s ear this time, and he nipped at Castiel’s ear lobe, then soothed it with a flick of his tongue. “Y’know, Cas,” he growled, and Castiel almost passed out on the spot. “As much as I’d love to get on my knees and blow you right here, I think a bed might be a better option.” He pressed a kiss to Castiel’s jaw and said, “You live close by, right?”

“Yes, I—” Some part of Castiel’s brain still retained the ability to think, and it all clicked. “Wait. Did you plan for this?”

Dean hummed, worrying a particularly sensitive spot on Castiel’s neck. Castiel wheezed, felt his knees go wobbly, and holy  _ fuck _ was that unfair. “So what if I did? I waited until after the first date, didn’t I?” How Dean retained enough brain power to tease him right now, Castiel would never know.  

“Right.” Castiel fumbled for Dean’s hand, slithered out from underneath him, pulled them in the direction of his apartment. “Assbutt.” Dean’s laughter echoed in the empty street. 

The short walk between the Roadhouse and Castiel’s apartment passed in a blur, broken by kisses and Dean sneakily palming Castiel’s ass while waiting for the light to change. When they finally,  _ finally _ tumbled into the elevator of Castiel’s building, Castiel pushed Dean up against the mirrored wall and lavished his jawline and neck with attention. They exited on the sixth floor and Castiel fumbled with his keys as Dean stood behind him, his breath dancing across the back of Castiel’s neck and giving him goosebumps, and then they were inside his apartment, in the dark, and Castiel started to feel a bit nervous again. 

Dean’s hand, gentle on his. “Are you a shoes off kind of guy?” 

That threw him. “I, uh, sure?” 

Dean’s soft chuckle, and then a soft  _ thump-thump _ as he toed off his boots. Castiel reached for the light switch, but suddenly Dean’s fingers were there, stopping him, and Dean was nudging him up against the door. 

Bemused, Castiel looked at Dean’s shadowy outline, what little of him he could see. “Dean, what are you—”

Dean cut him off with a kiss. It was searing, lingering, and he teased Castiel’s mouth, then pulled away before things got too deep. It was tender, Castiel realized, and he shivered as Dean pushed Castiel’s collar away from his neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. 

_ Noted _ , Castiel managed to think.  _ Dean likes necking. _

And Dean proved him right. Dean’s hands made quick work of a few buttons and snaked up Castiel’s sides, pushing his shirt up around his ribs. Dean’s mouth sealed on a particularly sensitive spot as he thumbed over Castiel’s nipples, teasing them until they were hard peaks. Then he gave them a hard flick.

Sparks flew and Castiel bucked, rolling his hips. “ _ Dean _ ,” he groaned.

Dean pulled away from Castiel’s chest, trailed a line of burning kisses up Castiel’s neck. “Yeah, baby?” he murmured. “You like it when I mark you up?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s voice was almost a growl. He rolled his hips again, making Dean hiss. 

“Don’t rush it, sweetheart. We got plenty of time.” Castiel had no idea how Dean fell so easily into endearments, but he couldn’t get enough of it. And Dean was right — this wouldn’t happen just once. They didn’t have to rush. Just the thought of being able to take his time had Castiel squeezing at Dean’s shoulders, his heart soaring at the possibilities expanding before them. 

Dean worked his way back down to Castiel’s chest, kept him pinned to the door, nudging his leg between Castiel’s. “I’m not finished with you,” he murmured against Castiel’s skin, and Castiel ground down on Dean’s leg, arousal shooting through him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. It was almost surreal. The darkness around them seemed to sing, and Castiel let out a happy sigh, pushing his fingers through Dean’s hair. 

Dean left two, three, five more marks across Castiel’s chest, flicking again and again at his nipples as Castiel let out a stream of breathless moans and platitudes. Castiel’s head was practically spinning with desire, desire that finally had him tangling his fingers in Dean’s hair, pulling his head back so Castiel could mouth at his clavicle. Dean wheezed, suddenly pliant, and Castiel felt his cock twitch through all their layers of clothing. Too much clothing. 

“Dean,” Castiel growled, and Dean shuddered. “Bed. Now.”

“Yeah, ah, yup,” Dean rasped, letting Castiel push away from the door and pull him past the kitchen and down the hall. 

The moment they crossed the threshold of Castiel’s bedroom, Castiel crashed into Dean, claiming his mouth and fumbling with the buttons of Dean’s shirt. It was dark in here, too, but the nearly-full moon shone through Castiel’s half-open blinds, painting Dean in delicious and flattering stripes, making his eyes glitter when they opened to stare at Castiel. 

“Jeez, babe.” Dean ran his thumb over Castiel’s lower lip, Castiel, who was busy with Dean’s buttons. “You’re all mouth, aren’t you?” Dean kept his other hand at Castiel’s ass and squeezed. 

“You don’t know the half of it.” Castiel finally got the last button and all but tore off Dean’s shirt. He was wearing a wife-beater underneath, and Castiel huffed his indignation and got a grin in return. 

“Who said you were allowed to wear so much clothing?” Castiel gritted out, but something about the sight of Dean in the tank, the way it clung to his toned muscles and spun a dozen construction worker fantasies through Castiel’s mind. He made a mental note to explore that later —  _ please let later be very very soon _ — before he was sliding the tank up and over Dean’s head and getting his hands all over that delicious, tanned skin, miles of it warm and soft under his touch. 

Dean was chuckling as he fumbled with Castiel’s shirt, his mouth hot against Castiel’s ear. “You’re so impatient.”

Castiel growled again, surprising himself a little. He usually wasn’t this eager or protective right off the bat. “And you’re not?” He worked his fingers under Dean’s belt, raked at the swell of his ass. 

Dean hummed and pushed his hips forward, grinding against Castiel as he pulled his shirt off. His hands were suddenly there, hot on Castiel’s bare torso. “I dunno.” He huffed, leaned away a little, and Castiel could see the way he grinned, the way his eyes seemed to glow. “I’m freakin’ giddy.”

Castiel couldn’t fight off a smile. “Giddy. Got it.” He leaned in, pecked a kiss to Dean’s mouth. “Me too.”

Dean let out a tiny groan and fell into the kiss, sweeping his tongue through Castiel’s mouth, and then they were on the bed and pulling each other’s pants off. Dean held Castiel down, mouthed at his hip bones and made him shudder. 

“Pitcher or catcher?” Dean murmured, his eyes two bright chips that gleamed in the dark. 

“I, um, both.” Castiel cleared his throat as Dean raised an eyebrow. “But mostly pitcher.”

A little smile. “Cool.” Dean rubbed his hands up and down Castiel’s thighs, nosed at the hard ridge of Castiel’s dick through the thin cotton of his briefs. “We don’t have to go that far if you don’t want to,  but. . .” He licked Castiel’s inner thigh. “I wouldn’t mind having you inside me.”

Castiel stared at him, tried not to come on the spot. “Christ.”

Dean smirked up at Castiel. “I take that as a yes?”

“Yes, absolutely, y—!” Castiel let out a choked groan, his body exploding because Dean had slid his briefs away and was licking a long, hot line up Castiel’s cock. 

The searing, slippery, delicious heat of Dean’s mouth was overwhelming, maddening, and then he began sucking in earnest, bobbing his head and gripping Castiel’s hips, soothing him as he bucked and keened against the mattress. 

Castiel let out a string of incoherent praise as Dean worked him over, sucking and rubbing before he pulled away and pressed careful, slow kisses along Castiel’s length. “So beautiful,” he murmured, voice low and rough, sliding his hands around to Castiel’s ass and squeezing it. 

Castiel was shuddering, ready to snap. “Dean,” he gritted out, reaching down to stroke Dean’s cheekbone, run his fingers through Dean’s hair. “You keep that up, I won’t last long enough.”  _ Or at all. _

“Oh yeah?” Dean’s voice was only a whisper. He kept his eyes on Castiel’s face as he pushed his lips to the tip of Castiel’s cock. 

Something about the way Dean looked, his hair all messy and his eyes shining and his wet red mouth, sent a tug through Castiel’s heart, and he cupped the back of Dean’s head. “Get up here.”

Dean grinned like he had been waiting to hear just that, and he crawled up Castiel like a jungle cat.

Castiel kissed him as he reached down to pull them flush at the hips. It was then that he realized Dean was still wearing his own briefs, the cloth covering his thick erection and nearly soaked with pre-come. Castiel frowned mid-kiss, grumbled into Dean’s mouth. “What the fuck, get these off.” 

Dean choked out a laugh. “Swear words, huh? You must mean business.”

Castiel pulled him close, pushed his foot into the mattress, and rolled them over. Dean let out a surprised squawk, and Castiel grinned down at him from where he now hovered, braced above Dean’s chest.

Dean cleared his throat, and Castiel could see his blush through the dark. “Pretend I didn’t make that sound.”

“No chance.” Castiel kissed him, fast and just a hint of tongue. “It was a great sound. The best.”

Dean pursed his lips, smirked a little. “Well. There’s more where that came from.”

“Promises, promises,” Castiel hummed, taking the opportunity to touch as much of Dean’s body as he could. Dean was muscular, with a light dusting of fine golden hair across his chest and trailing down from his belly button. His nipples were pebbled and Castiel lowered his head to worry one with his tongue, earning a gasp and a rash of goosebumps for his efforts. 

“Oho.” Castiel perched his chin on Dean’s pec and grinned up at him. Dean blushed again. “Someone’s sensitive.” 

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, but a moment later Castiel was sucking on one nipple and massaging the other, alternating pinches with gentler flicks, and soon Dean was squirming, gasping again. Then, Castiel grazed a nipple with his teeth, and Dean choked on a moan, his back arching off the bed.

Satisfied, Castiel pulled away to smirk at him. Dean was flushed, his eyes blown wide and lidded at the same time, and he had never looked more beautiful. “You are so gorgeous,” Castiel rumbled, ducking his head to suck a mark on Dean’s chest. 

“Heh,” Dean wheezed. “Stop.”

But Castiel didn’t. Instead, he slid down Dean’s body and pulled off his briefs. Dean’s cock was eager, flushed and a little thicker than Castiel’s, leaking and curling towards his belly, and Castiel felt his desire surge at the sight of it. Castiel squeezed the base of his own erection to keep himself sane, then lowered his head and went to town. 

Castiel liked giving head as a general rule, but a few minutes later he decided that blowing Dean was now something he loved. Dean was vocal and expressive, a litany of sounds and words pouring from his lips as his body shuddered under Castiel’s touch. Castiel sucked and licked and squeezed, and when he finally reached for the lube in the drawer of his bedside table, Dean could barely choke out a, “Please—!” 

Castiel started slow, keeping his mouth on Dean’s cock as he slicked up his index finger and slowly worked it in to the second knuckle. Dean was a little tight and he let out a moan as Castiel stretched him, but it was clear that this wasn’t new, that he was used to the feeling. In a minute, he was groaning, “More, more Cas, please, give me more—” and Castiel complied, adding more lube and slowly working Dean open with first one finger, and then another.

Dean got bossier, louder, biting off things like, “Yeah, baby, that’s it, stretch me—” His body became pliant under Castiel’s touch, warm and slick and opening so beautifully. Every part of Castiel wanted to pick up the pace, to pin Dean to the mattress and fuck him until he screamed, but he kept things slow, wanted to take his time.  _ Hadn’t Dean said that they should? _ Eventually, Castiel was fucking Dean with three fingers and nearly vibrating with want, his tongue and mouth getting sloppy as he watched his own fingers disappear into Dean, sliding in and out and stretching him wide. 

His heart pounding, Castiel pulled away and a trail of saliva dangled from his lips to the tip of Dean’s cock. Going slow did have its limits. “Dean, can I—”

Dean nodded, his eyes flickering open. He found Castiel’s arm and squeezed it. “Mmhm, yeah, go, now—”

Castiel nearly fell off the bed going for the bedside table and Dean fucking  _ giggled _ but then Castiel had the condom and he was tearing it open and rolling it on and slicking himself up—

“Hey.”

Dean’s hand was warm on Castiel’s cheek, holding him and pulling him close. Castiel stared back at him, all too aware of Dean’s body, hot and sticky and open, and felt like he was going to explode.

Dean gave him that tiny, private smile, stroked Castiel’s jawline. “I really like you.”

Castiel swallowed against an unexpected wave of emotion. “I really like you, too.” And then he surged forward, met Dean in a sloppy but earnest kiss. 

Dean pulled away, sucked in air. He shifted, hitched up his knees, his smile glittering in the dark. “What’re you waitin’ for?”

Castiel huffed but lined himself up, pressing kisses to Dean’s calves and thighs. “Assbutt.”

Dean chuckled, then went quiet as Castiel pushed forward, sliding in just a little. Castiel let out a groan at the tight, explosive heat, and stuttered out, “Okay?”

Dean grinned at him, bucked his hips. The shift made Castiel slip deeper inside, made them both gasp. “Lil’ more than okay.”

Castiel pushed even deeper until he was fully seated and fighting the urge to come on the spot. They were both panting, Dean staring up at him with those blazing green eyes. “Still okay?” Castiel said.

Dean nodded. “I’m good. Now…” He ran a hand through Castiel’s hair and pulled. “Fuck me properly.”

Castiel pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Happy to.”

He slowly pulled out before pressing back in, kissing Dean through it. Dean shuddered, took him up to the hilt again, murmuring, “Yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it—”

Castiel restrained himself, easing himself out then in again and keeping it slow, gradual, drinking in the tide of sounds and praises that was spilling fast from Dean’s lips — “God, sweetheart, so thick, you’re filling me up so good—” and his patience lasted for a little while before heat, relentless and tingling heat, was sweeping through Castiel’s limbs, and his legs were shaking from the restraint, from the tension coiling low in his belly, and then Dean’s hand was in his hair again and he was pulling and growling, “You wanna fuck me fast, angel?”

Castiel let out a strangled, half-animal noise and then he was caging Dean with his arms and his neck and his mouth and biting on Dean’s shoulder and slamming into him again and again and again, relentless, merciless, chasing the rush that was building to a wave, to a tsunami, and then Dean jerked, fumbling out a, “Jesus, Cas, there, do that again, right there, sweetheart, right there—” and Castiel did his best, sloppy but trying to find that same angle, and he seemed to, because Dean’s body was shaking, he was gasping like he might die, and he was so beautiful that Castiel couldn’t fight it, couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t close—

Desperate, Castiel pulled back, fit a hand between them and began jerking Dean with hard, fast strokes, and Dean arched off the bed, made a choking noise, his eyes dark and sweat shining on his chest— “Cas, Jesus, Cas, I’m gonna— I’m gonna—”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel gritted out. “Come for me. Come for me now.”

With a strangled groan, Dean arched off the bed and came in thick spurts across his own chest and stomach, and he clenched around Castiel, Castiel, who was coming too, shaking, Dean’s name falling from his mouth, stars exploding behind his eyes and from deep inside his stomach. 

Half-numb and boneless, Castiel slumped over Dean, who caught him with a wheezy chuckle. “Easy there, tiger,” Dean rumbled, his voice half-sex and half-sleep, but he held Castiel close, pressed a kiss to his temple. Castiel was busy using Dean’s delightful trapezoid as a kickstand for his head, his heart and body throbbing with ebbing pleasure, but it was several long moments before he could work up the energy to pull out, tie off the condom, and throw it in what he thought was the direction of the trashcan. 

Of course, there was the minor problem of Dean’s cum. Castiel frowned at the sticky splotches but then Dean was there, sweeping his own undershirt across their torsos, pressing kisses to Castiel’s mouth, chin, cheeks. Castiel let him, thrilled at the intimacy of the gesture. 

But then Dean was pulling away, getting out of bed. 

“Hey.” Castiel frowned. “Where are you—”

“Bathroom,” Dean murmured, brushing a hand through Castiel’s hair. The word was a question, too.

“Oh. Yeah.” Castiel pointed to the door right across from the bed. 

“Thanks,” Dean whispered, then the door was closing behind him and the light was cracking through the dark and Castiel was fumbling for the switch to turn on his overhead fan and then he was lying there, sweat drying cold against his skin as he stretched under the sweet, cool air, and his eyes were closing as he nestled into the still-warm sheets.

He was dimly aware of the light switch going, the door opening, Dean padding across the room, and then the mattress was dipping and Castiel was reaching. 

“Whoa, hey.” Dean’s quiet chuckle. “I didn’t know you were such an octopus.”

Castiel found Dean’s chest, nuzzled it. “Cuddling is very manly.”

The chuckle again. “I agree.” Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel, met him with a slow, searching kiss. Castiel fell back into his pillow with a happy sigh, but kept Dean close. He was so warm, and he cuddled into Castiel with a low hum.

It was quiet for about a minute before Dean spoke into the darkness, his voice low by Castiel’s ear. “So I guess it’s okay for me to stay?”

Castiel really woke up then — well, like 30% awake — and he opened his eyes to squint at Dean, who had his eyes open and who was gazing at Castiel with a surprising kind of uncertainty. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Dean made another of his funny choking sounds and blushed, not that Castiel could quite see it, but he could definitely feel it. “Okay, message received.”

Castiel grumbled, pressed himself closer to Dean and kissed his shoulder. “Ridiculous.”

Dean was smiling now. “Sure am,” he murmured, before ducking his head to give Castiel another lingering kiss. 

_ Oh shit _ . Castiel pulled away. “Uh, you’re not allergic to cats, right?”

Dean’s answering laugh would later echo through Castiel’s dreams, through the endless night and into the bright, exuberant morning.

****

 

**Day 13**

 

Castiel woke slowly, aware first of how warm he was, then of the weight across his chest and stomach, of the dim grey light gleaming in through his half-open blinds. He stretched, flexing his legs, then cracked open an eye when the weight on his stomach let out a protesting, “Mrrrap!”

Kitty was curled up on his tummy, but she had one eye open and was giving him a distinct  _ don’t-you-dare-move _ look. Castiel smiled at her, then realized that an arm that did not belong to him was flung across his chest. Castiel turned his head, following the lean muscles, the light dusting of blond-brown hair, the curve of the clavicle, all the way to Dean’s face. Dean, who was still asleep, his head tucked in by Castiel’s shoulder, and snoring gently into Castiel’s ear. 

The previous night came back to Castiel in a sudden, but not overwhelming, rush, and he smiled, stomach jumping at the memory of kissing Dean, holding Dean, listening to Dean fall apart and feeling him shudder. He was beautiful in sleep, pillow creases fading on his cheek, freckles visible and countable at so close a distance. His necklace, which Cas had been too distracted to properly look at the night before, dangled to the side. It was a little cheap gold pseudo-amulet, a grinning head, well-worn like the leather string it hung from. Castiel was intrigued, but found himself distracted when Dean snuffled on a snore. He was stupidly adorable, and Castiel couldn’t help himself from leaning in, pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead. Dean frowned in his sleep, then snorted, tensed, and opened his eyes to squint at Castiel. 

He looked so put-out Castiel fought the urge to grin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He kissed the same spot again. “Go back to sleep.”

Dean’s squint was turning into a frown, which was counteracted by the way he was pulling Castiel closer, cuddling into his side, and  _ hello _ , Castiel had forgotten they were both naked right up until then. Dean’s morning wood nestled against Castiel’s hip and Castiel immediately felt his body take interest. “Wha’ time’s it?” Dean croaked.

Castiel turned to look at his bedside alarm clock. “Six thirty-eight.”

Dean groaned, mashing his face into Castiel’s upper arm. “’s too early.”

Castiel did feel a stab of guilt at that. “I’m sorry, I forgot to warn you, I’m an early riser—”

But Dean was lifting his head again, staring now at Kitty with the same perplexed frown. Half of his hair was sticking up. “Cat.”

Castiel swallowed a laugh. “Yup.”

Kitty was taking no notice of Dean, by all appearances fast asleep. But he continued to frown at her, then shifted his arm down Castiel’s chest to slowly run his hand along the base of her tail. 

That got her attention. Her eyes opened, and she stared unblinkingly at Dean for a moment before she unfurled her tail, and then she was standing and stretching, arching her back and yawning, letting Dean take the full blast of her morning breath before she hopped off the bed, strolled across the room, and out the door. 

“Huh.” Castiel glanced at Dean, who was still frowning but seemed a little more awake. “Sorry, she must be hungry.”

Dean let out something between a huff and a sigh, dropping his head to Castiel’s shoulder. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll get there, too.”

Castiel smiled. “You can go back to sleep, Dean.”

“Nope.” Dean nosed his way along Castiel’s shoulder, pressing kisses as he went. “You’ve got me all awake and you have to suffer the consequences.”

“Oh really?” Castiel teased, but then all thoughts of teasing went out the door as Dean latched onto a particularly sensitive spot and sucked, making Castiel’s brain go blank. 

“Mhm,” Dean rumbled, pulling away, then he shifted, and suddenly he was on top of Castiel. Dean’s erection nestled into the dip of Castiel’s pelvis, and his whole body was a welcome line of heavy, sleepy heat as he ground into Castiel, the pressure and friction just this edge of tantalizing. Castiel’s hands found handfuls of Dean’s ass as Dean’s mouth left a line of kisses along Castiel’s jaw, then, as Castiel watched, Dean pulled away to lick his palm and lower his hand between them. 

“Fuck,” Castiel breathed, and Dean smirked. 

“Later, babe.” He dropped a peck to Castiel’s nose, then wrapped his hand around both their cocks and Castiel gave a full-body shudder.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Dean whispered, almost unintelligible underneath their harsh breathing. “When was the last time somebody touched you?” 

Castiel ignored him, pulled him into a sloppy and kind of gross kiss, their teeth knocking together as Dean pumped their cocks, riding the line between too slow and just the right speed. Dean moaned into Castiel’s mouth as they slid and rocked and ground into each other, and after several languid, breathless minutes, Castiel began to feel the heated pull low in his belly.

“God, Dean,” Castiel rumbled, tangling one hand in Dean’s hair and covering his cheeks, chin, jaw, everything he could reach with kisses. “You feel so amazing.”

Dean hummed, his lips soft on the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “You gonna come for me, baby?”

Castiel’s hand drifted to the cleft of Dean’s, his fingers stroking gently around Dean’s entrance, and Dean’s hips stuttered. “Only if you do,” Castiel murmured, pressing his finger against Dean’s hole, and Dean shuddered and came with a groan he stifled against Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel grabbed Dean’s ass, holding him in place as he thrust once, twice, and then came as well, wheezing out Dean’s name. 

They lay there, boneless, trading sleepy kisses, before Dean pulled away and yawned. “Good mornin'.”

Castiel smiled at him. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

Dean flushed a little and smiled in return. “Shower?”

 

 

**Day 14**

 

“Caaaaaas.”

Castiel looked up from chopping bell peppers to find his sister shooting him a knowing grin. “What?”

“What are you all smiley about?” 

Castiel rolled his eyes. They were FaceTiming, his iPad perched on the kitchen counter, while he did some meal prep. “I don’t know what you mean, Anna.”

“Oh sure. This is the most I’ve seen you smile since they released that special edition of the Star Trek Original Series.”

“It was Next Gen, and that’s a gross exaggeration.”

Anna hadn’t stopped grinning. “Cassie got laaaaid, Cassie got laaaaaid—”

“Anna, I’m going to hang up if you don’t—”

“You don’t have to tell me, Cas.” She splayed across her couch and tucked a hand into her dog, Nemo’s, belly fur. “Just cough once if you finally sealed the deal with Dean. I won’t tell.”

“ _ Anna _ .” 

“Okay, okay.” She stuck out her tongue. “I’m happy for you.”

And then she changed the subject, telling him a story about some absurd office politics (“I mean, Naomi technically sealed the deal, but she wasn’t giving  _ any _ credit where it was due—”) and politely didn’t say a thing when Cas’s phone buzzed and he grinned down at the screen.

 

**Dean:** late dinner tmrw? dying 2 try that diner across the street from u

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean???
> 
> I hope y'all liked it. no idea where this is headed, but give me time *rubs hands together*
> 
> thanks you for reading, commenting, etc. I love you <3


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